


Loose Lips, Deaf Ears

by WyattM



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Hostage Situation, I'll tag content by chapter, International Police Adventures, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Past Nanu/Giovanni too but don't get excited about it, Questionable ethics, Rocket Looker, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome probably, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-06-14 20:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 77,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15396342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyattM/pseuds/WyattM
Summary: 000's last mission might have gone south, but for once he's turned up a real lead his target- Giovanni, the nefarious (and rather slippery) head of Team Rocket.  Ol' Gio appears to have picked himself up a new boyfriend, who looks just naive and desperate enough to be useful.  Maybe.  Or 000 is about to have yet another unapproved mission turn sour, one of the two.





	1. A Good Plan (Up Until It Wasn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: Questionable ethics. Questionable ethics everywhere.
> 
> On a serious note, large relationship age gap (Looker is ~18, Nanu and Gio are ~35, ~40 respectively). Honeypot attempts. Very questionable police tactics (including planned blackmail). Inappropriate workplace banter. Actual person-on-person violence. Smoking, drinking (it's implied but never expressly stated through this whole fic that Nanu has an on/off binge drinking problem), cursing. Actual sexual content eventually.

"Oi, Chief, get a load of the new one!" 221 called from his monitor station, feet on the desk and energy drink in hand, "Ol' Gio picked up a cutie!"

221 handled surveillance for east Kanto, meaning he handled the only surveillance that mattered to 000, field chief of Organized Crime for the International Police.  Team Rocket was his section's business, and had been since 000 found himself wrapped up in the outfit a decade ago. His entire career had been dedicated to putting down the worst gang the Leagued world had seen to date, the biggest of the bad, the one thing that mattered to stop.

East Kanto, as 000 had discovered on his last mission, was the Rocket home turf.  221's station _mattered._  Whatever else the rest of the International Police did in the rest of the world was a metric fucking ton of 'not his problem'.  None of it mattered in comparison. Rocket would stomp out the rest of the bullshit before the International Police accomplished anything there anyway.

000 craned his neck over 221 to stare at the monitors.  The agent had grabbed the feed from the street cameras set on a Viridian City highrise, panelled over his array of monitors, catching a scene of two men exiting a limousine.  The first all of 000's team could recognize from fifty yards through grainy home movie- Giovanni, the leader of Team Rocket. The second was new; tall, gangly, with a baby face and a mop of poofy brown hair.  He didn't have a grunt uniform, just his Sunday's best khakis and a blazer that didn't fit. He had to be half the crime lord's age, and maybe a tenth as savvy. Kid was too stupid to keep his head down.

"Get a snapshot of 'im," 000 ordered, taking a sip of his coffee and watching Giovanni lead his date towards the door.  Sableye leaned in at the feed as well, from its perch on 000's shoulder. "I want a match and records on this one ASAP."

"Way ahead of you," 221 told him, panning the camera as the happy couple walked inside, "Already sent it to Intel, we should know within the hour."

"Fantastic.  Lemme know when it shows back up," 000 turned towards his office, grinning into his mug, "We need this kid on our side before he gets too attached.  See what we can convince him with."

Petty theft charges went a surprisingly long way when it came to twenty-somethings.  Or teenagers. The kid didn't look much out of teenage. Open and shut operation- tell the kid he needed to wear a wire or else the International Police would reopen whatever case he had gotten off of or was wanted on or had already done time for.  Drum the charges up to something believable but still frightening. Gio would cough up some hard evidence in range of a recorder, 000 could make his arrest, and everyone could have a relaxing few years sopping up the pieces while he did time. The Chief was so close he could _taste_ the victory shot of bourbon in his coffee (instead of the active-duty shot of vodka, the only brand on the bottom shelf in a glass bottle).

"Grabbed a few of your boy as well, you want a copy for your desk?  Maybe for old times sake?" 221 joked, referencing 000's… previous mission, the one that landed him on administrative leave once the Brass found out about it.  000 returned from that very same administrative leave on Monday, carrying along a few healed ribs, a couple new leads, and none of his pride.

000 shot him a glare, unamused with his team already.   He had to expect the jokes, but they still irritated him all the same.  "All right, get your laughs in. I'll give you all a whole week."

"'Just a week?" 418, the team's resident hacker, spun around in her chair, "You've been gone for twelve, Chief.  That's a long time to hold them in."

"You lot got to fuck around for a twelve weeks, I don't see any reason to let the fun continue any longer," he snorted, taking another sip of his coffee and disappearing into his office.

000 hadn't expected the administrative leave to last longer than the cracked ribs.  By the time the chief returned to active duty, he'd almost forgotten why he'd been suspended.  The team remembered, but hadn't been as heavy-handed with the potshots as expected (he got less than he was owed, 000 knew that much).  The Brass would be disappointed at how few lessons 000 gleaned from the affair. All he'd learned was that he needed to get better at holding his liquor, particularly with entire bottles of gin the field chief of the Organized Crime division could never afford on an International Police salary.  So what if he indulged a little, lost his badge, got the shit kicked out of him, and subsequently had the entire Brass find out about his plot to seduce the Boss of Team Rocket into dropping the hard evidence 000 needed to make an arrest? It had been a good plan up until it wasn't.

In truth, 000 was actually a bit astounded the Brass sent him back to his position at all.  His history helped. He was the only member of the original International Police not dead or churning out bureaucracy in the administration.  They needed his experience out in the field. He might have cut a few ethical corners this time, yeah, but that was why he took on the job instead of sending one off one of the younger agents.  And it had been a good plan up until it wasn't.

000 reminded himself that as he sat down and filled out his reports.  At least they knew everywhere the sonofabitch _lived_ now, which was farther than they'd gotten in the past year of empty leads and failed plea deals with grunts.  The cracked ribs and the twelve weeks of living off savings had been worth it. 221 had targets for his little camera network now, and even found something to boot.

000's hard work paid off as far as he cared.  

-

221 threw the stack of screencaps and a manilla folder on Chief 000's desk an hour later, shrugging.  "Nothing."

"Nothing?" 000 cocked an eyebrow, "Come now, everybody's got something."

The agent threw his hands up in a gesture of sheer defeat, "The kid doesn't even have unpaid parking tickets."

"Gonna be hard to blackmail him on crimes he hasn't committed yet, that's pretty much our entire pickle with Giovanni," 000 scowled as he took a sip from his third cup of coffee.  That had been the plan this morning. Scare the kid straight, let him know if he didn't help out the International Police, then they'd make sure he did his time tenfold. Then stick a wire on him and wait for Giovanni to slip up.

From 000's previous experience, Giovanni would slip up in about six weeks.  Maybe seven this time, since he appeared to have wisened up. 000 had the misfortune of having his recorder stepped on along with his ribs.  Anything usable in a court of law lay in pieces, probably still in same the Fuschia City gutter the recon team found him bleeding into twelve weeks ago.

"Guess the guy learned his lesson and figured out how to vett his boyfriends," 221 quipped though the look of regret came over him immediately as his boss shot him a glare.

"Enough with it," 000 complained, though he knew he had no right, "It was a good plan up until it wasn't."

"It'd have been a good plan if you got anything out of it besides an address in Viridian City and one in Celadon," the agent reminded him, "And let's face it, he won't be dumb enough to go back to Celadon now."

"You have been tracking that location, right?"

"Naw, I look at the hot dog stand across the street instead," 221 replied, rolling his eyes, "He hasn't sold it yet, we're still watching it."

"Just checking," the chief grumbled, thumbing through the manilla records folder, "You idiots had a twelve week holiday, it's gonna take the next twenty-four to figure out what you fucked up in my absence."

"We followed the orders you shouted at us as you were escorted from the building," the agent stated, "This is all we've found, I promise."

000 winced at the memory.  Not his finest moment either, plus he'd rebroken a rib no thanks to the International Police's security team.  The painkillers made it hard to discern when he needed to shut up and take the suspension.

Definitely the result of the painkillers, 000 decided as he put the memory out of his head and took a look at the summary page.  "He doesn't even have a driver's license. Lesse… we got some school records and a flight to this side of the pond, couple of short term rentals, credit card bills up until a few weeks ago.... guessing that's when they met.   No bank account in his name?"

"Not one we could find, card was paid off from a Kalos account hidden behind about twenty privacy laws.  I put in a request with our fantastic counterparts there but Arceus knows when that will get back to us."

"Never, they're still mad about the Admin bag we made over in Santalune last year," 000 shrugged.  The Kalos area lead failed to send any flowers to 000's room in the International Police medical center, in any case.  Not even a card. Not even an 'I hope this one kills you, you motherfucker' like the field chief for Extremist Movements had so kindly passed along (he could go fuck off and die himself, though the IP would have trouble finding takers to fill such a monotonous vacancy).

221 snorted, "You'd think they get over that by now."

"In their defense, our official story was that we were there on a 'team-building vacation'," 000 admitted, though at the time he hadn't believed Kalos division was dumb enough to believe it,  "Eh… I take that back, I think we got a good enough profile from this to work with. Take a stab at it?"

The chief of Organized Crime liked to challenge his agents.  Someone might have to succeed him eventually. This was a dangerous job, he could meet his untimely death at the wrong end of a .45mm at any time.   Couldn't hurt to have his replacement predetermined and trained up.

"My guess?  Giovanni found himself a goody-goody looking for funding on a continued gap year," 221 put his feet up on the chief's desk, "Desperate kid in need of a sugar daddy to live the good life.  Have one of us intercept him and offer him a ticket home because he'll realize he's in over his head soon enough."

221 would not succeed him.

"Did you look at his school records, you dolt?" 000 shook his head in annoyance, "That's one of most prestigious boarding schools in Lumiose.  Kid doesn't need money. Or shouldn't. Besides, he should be in university with these credentials."

"Then whatcha thinking Chief?" the agent rolled his eyes, not in the mood to practice his detective work.

"Got a runaway on our hands, that's what," 000 sighed, too lazy to read through the rest of the folder, "What do the folks do?"

"Kalos congressman for a dad, step-mom looks like a professional philanthropy type.  Couldn't pull anything with the birth mom, sent that request to Kalos as well..." 221 waved his hands in a gesture that spelled out 'exercise in futility'.

"Send for a divorce petition too," he let out a groan.  Three missing items would be enough to file a professional grievance against the Kalos area lead, four if the get-well-soon-card counted, "Kid looks like textbook upper class escape artist.  Socked away enough of his allowance to get out of a shit family situation, bolted the day of graduation. Nobody at home cared enough to cut his card as long as he stayed quiet and out of the way."

The chief put his head in his hands, tearing his hair a bit as he did.  He really needed to stop. At the rate the man had started greying, he would be lucky to have hair to tear at in a few years.

"What's the problem with that?"

"He ain't gonna take 'going home' as a bribe, that's what," 000 would know.  He had a personal experience with a similar case, once upon a time, though with fewer criminal organizations and a lot less cash to fall back on. "And he's not going to care what money we offer him.  He's not with our boy Giovanni for his wallet."

221 winced, his missing back set of molars visible (he'd lost them in a fight with a machamp almost a year back, 000 would have thought he'd get the IP to fix them by now).  "Yeesh. He really that good in the sack?"

"You're not getting an answer," 000 snarled (he could neither confirm nor deny the answer was yes).  Change of plans, they had until the end of the workday to end the jokes. The senior agent had enough on his plate without the shots at his poor decisions.  "... I can work with this."

"Oh boy…" 221 muttered, scooting back in his chair.

"What?"

"You got that look in your eye," 221 told him, "That plotting one you had going on right before you decided to go date the boss of Team Rocket."

"Do I look dumb enough to try that again to you?" 000 shot him a red-eyed glared that spelled 'demotion to Corruption and Financial Investigation division'.  Not that thought hadn't not crossed his mind- the kid was good looking, better than the bastard he was with. A soche too young for 000's tastes though, kid couldn't have been much over eighteen.

221 threw up his hands in defense, "Okay, okay, I'll stop.  Then what _are_ you going to do?"

"Just going to head over there and have a chat with him," 000 decided with seeming nonchalance.  He knew this sort of case, well enough that his shoulders tensed and memories of identities long buried flared.  "Kid's lost and he fell in with the wrong crowd."

"So you're going to _parent_ him into wearing a wire?" 221 shook his head, "Boss, there's no way this is gonna work."

"Either he wears a wire or he leaves so good old Gio can pick up a boyfriend that we _can_ blackmail," 000 shrugged, clearing off his desk and forming the plan.  He could pick up some train reservations on the way home. He had a date Saturday he'd have to cancel, but nothing of value lost there (too chatty for 000's tastes, but he owed the man dinner for throwing up in his foyer).  Sableye had been cooped up in the apartment too long anyway; it'd had started to tear up the curtains in the evening out of boredom. He could put off buying new curtains until a later weekend too. They weren't getting any more destroyed and he didn't have that kind of money to blow after twelve weeks suspension without pay.  "I'ma take the weekend for this. Let me know if they change locale."

"Just make sure you bring a condom, chief," 221 joked, before ducking past the loaded manilla folder 000 lobbed at his head, the contents raining all over the floor, "Oi, c'mon! That took me ten minutes to print off!"

"Then be more careful next time, agent!" 000 barked.  He should have been glad it was the folder and not the mug of coffee.

The chief of Organized Crime left the loose paper on the floor in favor of rooting through his briefcase for his now-canceled date's phone number.

-

"Absolutely not, Nanu," the director of Field Operations said as soon as the door to his office swung open, shaking the papers on his bulletin board as it hit the doorstop.

000 glanced up from his crossword and decided to play dumb.  "I'm ahead on my reports, I've earned my ten minutes of fuck-off time."

"You know full well that isn't what I'm talking about," she braced her palms at the edge of his desk, glaring at him over her glasses, "And we both know you've been at that for over an hour.  I expect to see reports on my desk at the close of business today."

"We're the International Police, we don't close business," 000 reminded her,  glancing back at his crossword. Fourteen down was 'almost a tropic', though Cinnabar didn't fit.  He wracked his brain for that other shitty island he'd never go on a vacation to, the one in Johto.

"Quit playing dumb, agent," she snapped at him.  000 glanced up, attention locked on his boss. The Brass hadn't called him 'agent' in years.

"Pardon?"  he continued to play dumb, going through the list of who would have squealed on him.  221 had a big mouth but wasn't one for reporting up the food. 78 had no sense of humor though and 529 was vying for his position.  As if he would get it, 529 wasn't listed as a potential successor in the event of 000's untimely death, and they could otherwise pry this job from his cold, dead hands.

The director stared down at him, scowl stretched across her face, "Do not.  Under any circumstances. Contact. This target."

 _Had to have been 529_ , 000 thought.  "What target?"

"Giovanni's new beau.  I know what you're up to," she threatened, "And clearly you weren't gone long enough to learn your lesson."

"A twelve week holiday isn't much of a lesson," 000 reminded her, "Even if you neglected to pay me for the privilege."

That last few weeks of 'dinner or cigarettes' almost amounted to a lesson, actually, but one quickly unlearned when the cigarette money ran out and the nicotine withdrawal rage kicked in.

"I'm serious.  You're on thin ice after that last stunt.  It took me every favor I could pull to keep your job.  If you do something like that again, I can't save you."

"You didn't need to save me in the first place," he pointed out, "You could have let them can me and watched this whole shitshow go to hell."

"That's _exactly_ why I did save you," the director replied, her eyes fixed on his, "And I won't be able to pull it off again."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

"Nanu, I'm being fucking serious.  Don't fucking do it. You'll cost us all credibility as a lawful organization."

"Good thing we aren't one."

"My point _exactly_.  Lance is making noise about us again, we all need to _behave_ until it _blows over_ ," she explained, her words slow and deliberate, "This _especially_ includes field teams."

"Whatever pissed off the League has nothing to do with East Kanto," 000 shrugged, though he put his crossword down.  He couldn't for the life of him remember that other set of shit islands.

He couldn't for the life of him remember what else the International Police fucked up in the last twelve weeks anyway.  Some science fair project in Cinnabar went catastrophic, but none of the agents that visited over in medical had any good intel on it.  The project was wrapped up with the Supernormal Division, and they were famous for taking the security clearance rules seriously. Not a fun bunch at the End-of-Year gala, needless to say.

She shook her head, "It doesn't matter, Nanu.  This is a fully-fledged police organization now, not just a couple dozen altruistic vigilantes.  We have to play by the rules."

000 met her glare.  "Then let's start at having an _effective_ set of rules."

"There's a game to be played, and we're losing it right now," she admitted, her voice bordering on the edge of a plea, "Do this one by the _book_ , Agent Zero-zero-zero.  That's an order."

"All right, all right," 000 grumbled, rolling his eyes, "By the book.  Got it."

"And I want those reports before five," she added as she turned to leave his office.  "Some of us aren't here until nine."

"Some of us have to provide such privileges for the brass," 000 shot under his breath as the door shut and he resumed the crossword.  Following the book be damned. He _wrote_ the fucking book, over the course of the last decade of his service to the International Police.  The director's words amounted to nothing more than 'don't get caught' as far as the chief of Organized Crime cared.  This time, he wouldn't. Lost kid, taken in by a charismatic stranger, probably with promises of a better tomorrow? 000 knew that case personally.

The answer to twenty-one down turned out to be Cianwood, but he had to grab a map to remember it.

-

The evening train pulled into Viridian around 20:00 that Friday, with most of its passengers young trainers excited to take on the Indigo League championship.  000 spent the ride hogging an entire backseat, keeping his eyes affixed to the evening paper and terrifying the life out of any preteen who threatened to take the seat across from him.  He enjoyed his solitude. And besides, he took enough stray elbows to the ear to want one of the rambunctious little bastards in the row with him.

Armed with Giovanni's personal apartment number and the knowledge that the big man himself departed around 17:15, alone save a suitcase, the chief of Organized Crime division wandered in the opposite direction of the herd of teenagers.  He needed to collect his thoughts (and have a damn smoke… the train ride was an hour too long on his patience). The kid probably had a good heart, at least as far as his record alluded to. If home sucked, that was something, but there were other options in Kanto.  Better ones (hell, even the International Police was better). If his grades and test scores were half an indication of his intelligence, he could do whatever else he wanted. Even if they weren't, which was more likely, he could still leverage them. A better life existence was out there.

Hell, 000 would give him a helping hand even if the kid didn't want to wear a wire.  The agent could still remember the day he'd rolled up in Saffron with a half-trained Sableye and a month's hostel stay to his name.   Half the reason he'd found himself in the International Police had more to do with the fact 000 found them first, and up until that point had been some of the worst weeks in 000's life.

Well, maybe he wouldn't be introducing the kid to the International Police.  000 might have too much of a heart of that one, too. Kanto offered plethora of _other_ opportunities for a young man with stunning paper credentials.  He'd come up with something on the walk over.

Or he would spend the whole walk over worrying about the kid.  Nineteen, 000 decided, he'd put him at a max age of nineteen based on the file- too young to get wrapped up in this shit (000 was sixteen when he'd made his way over to Kanto, but that was besides the point).  For a kid with no record to speak of, Giovanni was the equivalent of making his first real drink a double shot of moonshine with a malt liquor chaser.

Needless to say, 000 hadn't come up with anything notable or enticing on his first pass by the apartment building, leaving him to burn another cigarette from the edge of the park across the street.  The plan would require some tact, moreso because 000 had until the 05:00 Monday train to execute in full. The agent was hesitant to walk in without a vague idea of steps alpha through sierra.

Plus 000 needed a way past the doorman, who appeared to be the same oversized dofus grunt from three months ago.  The goon no _doubt_ could recognize 000 (he did most of the beating when Giovanni grew bored of it) and wouldn't stand to see the double agent knocking around anywhere in Viridian City again.  By sheer grace of the Tapu, 000 noticed him first and could duck down the block before the bastard went outside to do his damn job instead of watching the ball game in the lobby.

The kid had been up in the room, east corner, third floor, facing the park.  A silhouette of goofy hair up was visible through the window (which almost kept 000 from noticing the door goon).  His beau must have told him to stay off the streets for his own good. Shame to keep a cute kid inside on a Friday night, but Giovanni had a jealous streak a mile wide and six miles deep.  

That was a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. 000 would have rather found him at a bar.  It wouldn't be hard to get a teenager wasted, romance him a bit, take him back to a motel room, and then sit him down and have a frank discussion about his life decisions.  The alcohol might even help him process how fucking reckless he behaved. Giovanni was a generous boyfriend, but it would dry up faster than a split drink in Haina desert. The sheets had hardly gone cold yet on the evening of 000's first date with him.  Someone needed to cut this kid off before he wound up with passed out in the bathtub with a dick drawn on his forehead.

000 decided to leave that last part out of the frank discussion as he slinked across the street and into the alley behind the apartment. He might as well go feel out the situation.   Plus the weather had started to cool off and 000 would rather be inside the building, within the climate control. The fire stairs were easy enough to jump to from the dumpster, and as a bonus he didn't snag his slacks this time.

He popped in somewhere on the fourth floor, jimming the window open on the first partly-lit apartment.  By his previous estimates, the building was about half Rocket or Rocket affiliated. It came as a mixed bag for outright break-ins.  The upper echelon stayed traveling, only popping into official residences once every blue moon, but kept security tapes rolling. A partly-lit apartment signaled some wealthy local had disappeared for the evening.

On the other hand, it could mean some wealthy local would unload a firearm into him for breaking and entering.  From experience, they almost always had .22s and bad aim, and 000 had a decent bulletproof vest. It would be a setback but not a major one.

000 would still be pissed about it though, he realized as he climbed into the kitchen.  The gunshots would attract the goon security. He'd have to bolt down the fire escape and he'd probably be bleeding.  The only thing that made running for dear life less pleasant was blood.

Plus, he was in Viridian City.  There was something to be said about an emergency room that could refrain from asking how three .45 caliber bullets and a handful of buckshot wound up in a patient's ass.  The chief had _nothing_ to say when it came to the Viridian City trauma department.  He avoided it whenever possible.

Luckily, the owners had either departed for the evening or gone to bed (elderly rich types tended towards photosynthetic).  000 didn't care which. He made it into the hall in one piece, locking the door again behind him, and that was all that mattered.

The old 'overly-friendly-neighbor' routine turned out to be the best plan 000 could conjure while waiting on the ancient elevator (the elevator held a special place in the hatred within 000's heart already, he'd gotten familiar with it's wondrous abilities to cockblock months ago).  Cover stories were never his strong point. He'd fallen in love with the field for a lot of reasons: the pace, the intuition requirement, the look on an admin's face when a set of cuffs fell around their wrist. Coming up with stories to disguise his identity sucked. He left it to the other field agents as soon as he made chief, going along with whatever weird idea they planned (water main repair crew, pizza delivery, rug appraisal… once a traveling musician, which turned out as expected given he couldn't even _spell_ xylophone).

Overly-friendly-neighbor worked to 000's advantage more often than not though, and he couldn't come up with anything better by the time he'd reached apartment 307.

The kid answered on the third knock, with the respect to take the chain off before opening.  He was even cuter than the grainy video feed led 000 to believe- poofy brown hair, huge brown eyes, with a jawline that could cut glass and a build that suggested he at least knew how to use his gangly limbs.  A croagunk had its arms wrapped around his neck; he balanced the pokemon and along with a glass of wine (merlot, aged twenty-two years, if 000 remembered the contents of Giovanni's liquor cabinet with any accuracy).

"Hey neighbor," 000 started without a beat, ignoring the befuddled stare from the kid, "Heard you knocking around, figured I'd introduce myself.  Just moved in down the hall. Came up from Vermillion."

The kid stared at him, his eyes darting up and down the hallway.  Gio had a tight leash. "Ah, yes, I see. Welcome," he said, with only a trace of Kalosian accent despite his clear nerves.

"Want to go grab something to eat with me?  I was just heading out."

"Ah, no I have taken my dinner already."  Somewhere among the nervous energy, 000 saw the flash of a smile.  A good sign, even if the answer was no. He could swing through again tomorrow.  A little lunch drinking might loosen him up just as well. "I thank you for the invitation, however."

"You sure?  I got no idea where I'm going, I'd appreciate a guide," he suggested, pressing his luck with his best attempt at a sincere smile.  He probably fell short of the mark. 000 didn't do 'smiling' well, at least not in any sense that didn't make everyone around him nervous.

The kid shook his head, the croagunk sticking its tongue out at the stranger in the hallway.  "I am afraid I am on the winding down of my evening."

"You sure?  Shame to be inside on such a nice night," 000 pushed, a bit too hard judging from the way the kid kept glancing back at the apartment beyond him and shifting his weight between legs.

"Ah, I am sure other nice nights will occur.  I am quite tired," his tone firmed up. The International Police agent needed to back down.  This kid wasn't going out to enjoy his Friday night come hell or high water.

"Suit yourself," 000 conceded, "Maybe another time."

"Yes, perhaps."  The door all but slammed shut.

000 winced.  Giovanni's leash was tight.  000 had all but ignored it, but he'd had almost fifteen years on the kid.  The old bat knew it too. He couldn't tell 000 to stay put and never tried real hard.   An impressionable teenager, though? Shit, the kid probably rolled over like a furfrou.

-

000 came up with his plan for the next day over a diner burger (shit, overcooked, and somehow with mayo despite three separate requests for no mayo).  Tomorrow would be the "accidentally bought too many of the something food product, you want" routine, with which he would hopefully invite himself inside with.  And then drag the kid out of the apartment. If the latter didn't happen, he had the target of a Sunday brunch.

000 didn't need much time, just ten minutes away from potential recording devices to let the kid know that 000 was _acutely_ aware of the clusterfuck he'd landed himself in.  Maybe he'd make a few scared straight threats of how wrong this would go (barely categorized as threats… it _would_ go wrong).  Or he could promise that 000 would be back again next weekend, to straighten this out and help him on his way.  The new curtains could wait another week. Plus that date was a lost cause to begin with, if 000 never paid him back for the fucked up foyer  it just gave the guy another reason not to call.

The chief of Organized Crime shook his head, putting down the sorry attempt at a dinner after two bites.  He'd fucked this mission up before it started. This was a kid he needed to convince to wear a wire, not a fucking rescue job.  The kid would go from being Gio's tool to the International Police's tool, or he'd excuse himself so that Gio could pick up a more cooperative tool.

Don't get too wrapped up, that had always been 000's playbook.  One second you gave a shit, and the next minute you died of old age still stuck on an island a million miles away from meaningful civilization.  The same pattern repeated itself countless times back home. The second anyone of value started giving a shit, they found themselves trapped in the endless cycle of tourism and petty island _bullshit_ , never amounting to more than a clever festival planner and a pretentious mediator.  000 had better plans for his life, that was why he promised to never get wrapped up. It'd been his modus operandi for years.  He could even walk out on the International Police if need presented itself (though he'd be forever sore about not putting Giovanni behind bars).

Fuck the book, 000 decided as he gave up on the shit burger (way too much fucking mayo).  He wasn't on Ula'ula anymore, and this was a dumbass kid who couldn't tell he was drowning yet.   _Someone_ had to try, once and awhile.  Bulu knew, Nanu would have appreciated it when he first rolled into Saffron a decade ago.

-

Six convenience store beers, a bag of chips, a couple rocks for the stir-crazy Sableye, a room at the cheapest motel still with vacancies (took four tries, fuck Viridian City and fuck twelve weeks suspension without pay), and a well-needed shower (no telling what exotic variants of the common cold the average league challenger carried), 000 felt more secure in his strategy.  The plan would take couple extra pastries from the grocery store, an invitation to a late lunch, and a heart-to-heart about how this was the worst decision this kid could ever make. Maybe it warranted some soul bearing about that 000 had been in his shoes, since once the kid was sent packing they'd never cross paths again. The mission would hit two birds with one stone- sent off the kid so Giovanni could pick up blackmail material in his stead, and satisfy 000's need to do some good in the world.

It was a good enough thought to sleep on, 000 decided as he toweled off and pulled his boxers and undershirt back on.  Between that and the beers, he'd killed the churning gut feeling about all this. So what if he gave a damn for once? This wouldn't go south, and he wouldn't have any residual regrets over it.  The kid would go elsewhere, Giovanni would pick up a better target, and 000 could wrap this adventure up with a nice bow before the 05:00 train on Monday without feeling like a sentimental washup (or worse… a failure at his given career of _trying to protect everyone too helpless to do it themselves_ ).

It wasn't a good enough thought to not notice the deadbolt unlocked on the motel room door as he stumbled his way back to the bed.  000 always locked the deadbolt at hotels (home, different story, but always hotels). The chief had enough close calls over the years not to. However, clearly not enough close calls to take his pistol or Sableye into the shower with him (well the latter tried to scale the shower curtain every time and 000 wound up with more water outside the tub than in it).  One of these days, he to start learning from his mistakes, 000 decided as he turned in time for a Rocket Grunt to smack him in the mouth with his absentee pistol.

A second bash came to the back of the head, and leaving 000 without the time to think about else he'd fucked up that night.


	2. Pulp and Bologna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu settles into captivity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Punch to the face. Blood. Concussion (and lack of proper care thereof). Inappropriate language and themes. Shitty childhoods, implied neglectful parents. Age gap still a thing. Hostage situation. Too much bologna.

"Well… if it isn't Zero-zero-zero," Giovanni pronounced, his steps across the floor as deliberate as his words, "And here I was thinking you'd have learned your lesson after last time."

000 grinned up at him, despite the dried blood cracking between his nose and his chin. "I'm only a quick learner in bed."

The kid shifted, hands stuffed into the pocket of his sweatpants, from where he leaned against the wall of… wherever they were.  If 000 had to guess it was a warehouse outside the city that Team Rocket overtook on a bullshit business facade. Kanto was littered with them; if Org Crime started counting, this team would waste every moment of a 90-hour workweek doing nothing but.  Overall, the kid looked uneasy with the situation before him, his eyes darting between the bossman and the hostage while he said nothing and scowled.

Whatever, 000 thought.  He deserved uncomfortable. The kid _knew_.  000 never knew what Giovanni did for a living in the four-five odd months they "dated", not until earlier on the fateful night his ass got handed to him.  But after a month, Giovanni considered 'beating the IP agent' suitable date night activity with this one. Plus, the kid must have tipped the Rocket boss off to 000.  Team Rocket hadn't installed any security cameras on the third floor. 000 spent a solid two weeks trying to find them.

If the kid was in _this_ deep, knew _this_ much, he must have heard the story of how Giovanni's former beau turned out to be an International Police agent.  He deserved a little discomfort. Granted, he looked even younger taken out of his obvious element of sitting around, drinking wine, and looking cute.  000 half expected him to be in footed pajamas. The cursing alone likely made him uncomfortable.

He couldn't expect the chief of Organized Crime to be _amicable_ , considering 000 was duct taped to a chair in his underwear, less the better parts of three teeth and plus a throbbing headache.

Giovanni scowled.  "Well, I can't say that bodes well for the rest of your intelligence, then."

"The fact that I thought your boytoy would go to dinner with a broke ass like mine was proof enough of that," 000 shot, keeping his grin, "Now we both know you're gonna rough me up and dump me again.  Let's get on with it. My head is killing me and it'd be nice to be unconscious."

"Cute," Giovanni lifted 000's head up by his chin so their eyes met, "I _am_ a fast learner.  And given the meetings the League has been having with the International Police as of late, I feel like we're all better off waiting for them to come pick you up.  After they agree to cease most of their activity."

"So you're going to try to use me as a bargaining chip to get them to bend over to the League?  That isn't going to work."

That was pure truth.  It wouldn't. Not a single member of the Brass would change their negotiation tactics for a field agent's skin.  In fact, once they found out it was 000's skin on the line, they'd double down on whatever position Giovanni hated today.

"It might not," the Rocket boss admitted with a sinister grin, "But it never hurts to try.  I lose nothing from it at the end of the day."

000 couldn't argue with that statement.  "Sounds to me like you just enjoy having me around.  The new toy not enough for you?"

The kid went furious, waving his arms yelled.  "Perhaps it is time for you to stop with all of the speaking!"

"Bit insecure, huh?" Nanu joked, the words rolling off before he thought through that decision or any of its potential repercussions.

Giovanni's fist collided with the bridge of his nose, knocking the IP agent over, chair and all.  If 000 head hurt before, this time it _exploded_.  Pain stabbed from both sides and he felt like he was falling long after he smashed against the floor.  His vision doubled. If he didn't earn concussion in the earlier assault, he had one now.

"Come now, handsome, let's go back to sleep now that this _interruption_ to our evening is over," Giovanni snorted, leaving 000 sideways on the floor.  

His vision spun and his stomach threatened to expel as the two took their leave, Gio's hand clamped over the back of his boy's neck.  The kid glanced over at 000 as the door shut, wearing a look of pity.

The IP agent fumed, in part at the fact he was now hostage to Team Rocket and in part that he might have had the kid nailed down if he'd been better at bullshit covers.  He might know Giovanni was the big bad boss of Team Rocket, but he was still in over his head. Anything other than creeping on him in the middle of the evening (that new neighbor ploy probably worked better in the afternoon… 000 would work on it), and 000 could have played knight in shining armor, here to save the dumbass prince from his dumbass romantic choices.

Instead he was tied to a chair on the cold floor of… somewhere, and if he didn't stop fuming he'd throw up in frustration and drown in his own vomit.  That didn't need to show up on any formal report. 000 might not hold any dignity to his name, but no sonofabitch deserved that death, not in the line of duty anyhow.

First order of business would have to be wait until his head stopped spinning or his brain bled out (hopefully the former).  Then he need to upright himself (sooner than later, the room was freezing and Team Rocket hadn't the decency to abscond with his pants when they carted off the rest of him), unstick himself from the damn chair, assess his surroundings, escape, and then maybe bring the kid around so he didn't lose his job in the process.

000 sighed.  He was in way over his head himself.

-

The door opened somewhere in the process of the 'uprighting himself' step.  The throbbing head died down enough for 000 to reassure himself that he wouldn't suffer brain bleed (and the threat of nausea subsided).  Granted, in several dozen tries, he'd managed little more than flipping onto his back and shoving the chair against the far wall. His face no longer seemed at risk of freezing off, but this offered little other improvement.  Besides, knowing his luck this evening, the ceiling would leak.

000 almost lost his entire gain with the chair uprighting when the door opened and shut in the same fluid movement, sending 000 jumping half out of his skin and twisting in the process.  He landed on his back but avoided hitting his head.

"If you are to say anything I will ensure you are covered in acid," the kid's voice hissed, his croagunk from earlier squawking an agreement.

"Haven't started screamed yet, have I?" 000 muttered under his breath.  Screaming wasted too much energy and he knew his rescue wouldn't come from annoying the crap out of the guards.  Whatever this was, the kid could get it over with so 000 could resume the vain attempts to prop himself up.

The kid kicked him in the shoulder (more like nudged, he either had no strength to put behind it or didn't).  "That counts. It is time for quiet."

The chief rolled his eyes but played along as the other man grabbed the back of his chair and pulled it upright.

That… that was actually helpful.  The sudden change in altitude threatened to bring up a mouthful of nausea, but 000 held it down to enjoy not lying flat on his back for a change of pace.  The holding it down took more effort when the kid picked up the chair, 000 with it, and spun him around to face him. He still wore sweats, but he'd thrown a goofy oversized trench coat over them.   The croagunk stood next to him, arms crossed and scowling at him in commiseration (which 000 found mildly impressive- Sableye didn't do anything in commiseration with 000, including but not limited to protecting him from attacking Rocket grunts).  

"Cripes kid, don't-"

The kid smacked him on the shoulder, that one stung.  He had _plenty_ of strength if he wanted to use it.  "Quiet."

Croagunk garbled at him in agreement.

The IP agent scowled, which didn't stop the kid from pulling a flashlight out of a coat pocket and shining it right in 000's eyes.  " _What in fucking name-_ "

That earned him another smack in the shoulder.  "I am being serious, we will both be in trouble!  Open your eyes, I need to confirm you are not concussed."

"I'm damn well concussed," 000 responded, keeping his voice low and his eyes closed, "I already fucking knew that."

"Do you have a headache and is it growing any worse?"

"Yes, but no, thank you for your fucking concern.  Despite both blows to the head I think I'll unfortunately live through this one."

This was growing absurd.  Fantastic. As if this mission hadn't been bad enough, Giovanni's boyfriend appeared in the middle of the night to torture him with a flashlight.

"Are you light sensitive?" he questioned, his voice staying dead serious.

"I am when you point that Tapu-damned thing in my eyes!"

The flashlight clicked off, giving 000 the ability to open his eyes again.  "You need to try to stay awake as long as possible."

"That's only if I have some way of getting medical attention, which, if you have noticed, I don't."  That wouldn't be happening regardless. Now that he wasn't lying on freezing concrete, 000 was going to nap.  Hostage situations were made for ten hour naps, he wasn't about to pass this one up, concussion or no.

The kid took a deep breath, "This is true."

"The fuck are you doing?"  000 questioned, bewildered.

"...Confirming you do not die," his tone was laden with apology, "...If I had known the forthcoming affair I would not have brought up your visit with him earlier.  This is my fault."

"What the- you know, nevermind.  I don't want to know," 000 decided, his head hurting.  Concussion rule number one, avoid concentration. Actually, concussion rule one was don't get a second concussion, but that had already happened.  He'd also concentrated too hard on uprighting himself for the last hour. But whatever was going through this kid's head, it took more concentration than trying move his chair around.  "Are you letting me go or some shit?"

"I cannot."

"Well, I tried."

The kid pinched the bridge of his nose, fumbling in his pocket before pulling out a pocket knife and flipping it open.  "If I do this, you will stay still until I reach the door."

000 eyes widened, "Uh, kid-"

"I am only going to cut the tape, I promise!"

The IP agent knew better than to trust that promise.  This kid wasn't just _Rocket_ , he was boytoy to their head man, the worst of the worst.   _And_ he'd been the one to tip Giovanni off to 000's arrival (granted, all of 000's plan had been bad and he couldn't blame the kid for that).  There wasn't a world in which he could trust the kid with that knife.

He also didn't have much choice considering he was duct taped to a chair in boxers and an undershirt.  If the kid wanted to murder him, now was as good a time as any. And if for some reason he didn't, well… getting sprayed with acid wouldn't _add_ to the concussion.

"...Fine," 000 grumbled, "Whatever."

The kid made quick work slicing through the tape around his ankles, the blade freezing cold against 000's skin.  Next was his torso, which he did in one fluid motion before jumping backward so fast 000 was convinced he'd wind up knicked on the pocket knife.   He didn't. The kid kept a handle on his blade.

They stared each other down, neither sure of the other's next move.  If he was somehow a stronger man and if he wouldn't spend thirty second ripping himself out of the duct tape, 000 knew he _should_ jump him.  He _should_ take the knife, he should subdue both of them, and he _should_ make a break for it.

000 wasn't in the position to do anything of those things, starting with, he didn't want to.  The kid let him out of the damn chair. That was enough of reason to not.

"Here," the kid grumbled.  He took off the goofy trenchcoat and tossed it at 000's feet, backing up as he did.  "This will have to be sufficient until… later. Sometime."

"Yeah… later," 000 repeated, not moving and not sure how to respond to this situation.  Whatever this kid was doing, the agent couldn't imagine it holding _honest_ intention.  Any second now, one of the goons would burst through the door and shoot him.  Or Giovanni would show up. Or the kid would pull a gun.

If he _was_ genuine, well, Tapus Bulu, Fini, Koko, and Lele help him.  He was in far enough over his head that this would end with two bullets in the back of his skull.  That'd be a shame, the kid was good looking and rather polite.

"You are welcome.  Goodnight," the kid half-yelled, though his voice quivered.  With that, he scooped the croagunk up in his arms and dashed back out the door, shutting it as quietly as it opened.

000 blinked.

Any second now, a goon would burst through the door and shoot him.  This was a stupid, sadistic game- bring up the wayward International Police agent, give him a bit of hope, shoot him in the stomach and leave him to bleed out.  Gio had to be still pissed about 000 duping him for a few months, this would be his style of payback.

He held his breath for a bit, wheezed, and held his breath some more.  Then he rinsed and repeated the process a few times. Counted to ten his head, first in Kanton standard, then old Alolan, then Johtan.  Then attempted Unovan but couldn't remember the word for 'six', and with all the struggling he probably used up all the time ten would take anyway.

No goons showed.

With a deep breath, 000 peeled himself out of the duct tape cocoon.  It took some effort, the top layer of skin, and what little body hair he had in the first place, but he managed to get free without struggle.  That would give him a rash, but that was the least of his worried right now.

The room was some sort of utility closet- no windows, one overpowered AC vent, and a lightswitch that 000 had no intention of testing in his current state.  The door, on further inspection, was damn solid. Steel reinforced, deadbolted on the opposing side, no visible hinges. Getting it open was going to take a hell of a lot of work and some clever planning.

The clever planning would have to wait.  His head still throbbed and everything else _hurt_.  By morning he would turn into one giant black and blue, and his watch indicated that time would come sooner than later.   Nothing would get accomplished from staying up indefinitely.

Besides, hostage situations were _prime_ napping opportunities.  Most agents took full advantage of the lack of reports to prepare and check-ins to worry about.  000 might as well enjoy the time off, since come Monday around ten, when the Brass got wind of what the hell happened to him, he wouldn't ben an agent anyway.

He'd worry about that later too, he decided as he grabbed the kid's goofy coat and drug with him to the corner.  It smelled like coffee, strong enough to indicate that its owner's intake rivaled 000's. It was comforting compared to the mildew and blood aroma of the closet.  Once he had it wrapped around himself, the chief of Organized Crime dozed off in seconds.

-

Some goons appeared a few hours later, with commotion instead of guns.  Two threw the door open, flipping on the light and barking out a few threats to poison gas the entire floor if 000 so much as thought about moving.  He jolted awake, but otherwise couldn't have assed himself up if he tried. The chief was never too good within a few minutes (or hours) of waking when he hadn't been beaten to a pulp the night before.  Plus, the light hurt like a bitch and he couldn't keep his eyes open for more than a squint.

One of the goons shoved a mattress through the doorway.  It landed with an uncomfortable thud less than an inch from where 000 huddled under the coffee stained coat.  The mattress was followed by a frayed duvet, a ball of aluminum foil, and a jug of water.

"Now keep fucking quiet," another grunt barked at him, before slamming the door shut.

The IP agent rubbed his eyes and uncurled himself, his brain not processing. His head still hurt, though the throbbing had dialed down tenfold from the night before and been replaced with the pain his teeth and shoulders and everywhere else the goons had beaten him.  He'd kill for a cup of coffee and some acetaminophen. Hell, he'd even take the latter dry if he could get them now.

The mattress had seen better days and some of the stains fell beyond the realm of questionable, but the springs didn't poke out yet.  The duvet had an equal number of questionable stains. Beggars couldn't be choses, 000 supposed. That'd be enough protection from the cold ground and the ridiculous level of climate control in this building.

The tinfoil housed a bologna sandwich, which 000 wasn't hungry enough to consume yet.  He put it to the side with the water jug before shoving the mattress into the corner and turning the overhead fluorescent bulb off.  Both it and the duvet reeked of mildew, but the coat drowned out both enough to doze back off for a few hours.

He'd question all of this after another solid nap.

The mattress and the duvet weren't the only items worth questioning.  Upon waking (from another slamming of the door, obnoxious bright light, and tinfoil ball lobbed at his blanket burrito), 000 checked the pockets of the coat.  The kid had neglected to remove a tangerine and a well-worn, dogeared paperback novel (of the pulpy detective variety, obtainable in the checkout line of most grocery stores).

He inhaled the tangerine, disregarding the shooting pain in his cracked teeth. It beat the shit out of bologna, which turned out to be the contents of the second foil ball as well.  After quick deliberation, hunger pain won the battle against taste. 000 finished those as well (slower, to avoid destroying what was left of his teeth). Unless the kid wandered around with fruit in wee hours of the morning, odds were good that and the novel had been intentional.

But, why?  On all accounts none of this made any sense.  The mattress and the duvet made even less sense.  000 only needed to be in a vague state of 'alive' this week for Team Rocket's ransoming to stand a chance.  Comfortable didn't factor anywhere into that. Hell, coma and profuse brain bleeding qualified considering the International Police wouldn't budge their position with the League on account of their idiot chief of Organized Crime.

Hell, come Monday morning, 000 wouldn't hold that title anyway and they could deny ever knowing him.  

This might be all a product of the kid's weirdness.  Stupid wealthy kid from Kalos, fell in with a bad crowd, and trying to do good by his own right.  He had to clear his conscience before this all killed the first IP agent he'd come across.

The newbie agents had similar tendencies.  000 settled for letting them play good cop in interrogations and reviewing that the submitted mission plans followed both legal standards and internal protocols (the actual missions resembled the presubmitted material to the same extent 000 resembled a magneton).  The Team Rocket equivalent must have been along the lines of "go make the hostage comfortable in his last hours."

Those newbies never made past a year, but at least 000 had the respect not to fuck any of them.  Plus, the IP was a legitimate organization that an employee could resign (or get terminated) from.  Team Rocket wouldn't grant the same luxuries. Even if they did, he'd have the single most vicious and vindictive ex-boyfriend in the Leagued world to deal with.

000 laughed. The kid was _fucked_.

-

The kid didn't reappear until the next afternoon.  By then the chief of Organized Crime had all but torn apart the room in desperate fury, assessing the available resources for an escape.  The conclusion: nothing. 000 had nothing. He had the springs in the mattress, which could be filed into a shank given time until the heat death of the universe.  He had a paperback he could throw with no notable force at a grunt. He had a duvet he could smother himself with to go out with some dignity (good joke, he lost that in his previous mission).

000 was as fucked at the kid, realistically.  Doubly so, because he hadn't smoked in forty-eight hours and while this was good as a time as any to quit, he hadn't intended on it.  The nicotine withdrawal didn't help formulate an escape plan.

In the end, his head started to throb again and the cold of the room grew too much for him.  He curled underneath the coat and the blanket and looked at the book. The summary on the back read as generic as this kind of pulp came:

" _Destination: Sevii Islands.  Mission: track down the former director of KurtzCorp._

_After his adventures in Goldenrod, Detective Zephyr's hardly been given time to breathe before shipping out to his next job. Ending a decade long cold trail, rumors of Kurtz's reappearance abound, and Zephyr's been put on the case to settle this once and for all. His problem?  The contact he was given in Sevii, a local cop named Shalim, wants nothing to do with him. If Zephyr didn't know better (and he's not sure he does), he'd think Shalim has alternate interests in this case."_

000 almost laughed at its bland stupidity, before cracking it open anyway.  There was nothing better to do. Besides, he needed to confirm his intuition hadn't evaporated in light of this kidnapping.  Shalim's distaste for assisting with the case wasn't a smoking gun as much as a personality quirk, Zephyr didn't know his ass from his elbow without help, and the big bad reappeared to settle a score with one of the two.  These books were steadfastly predictable, which 000 supposed was part of the appeal. He didn't read much.

A solid day of reading confirmed he was more or less right.  Shalim being a former crooked cop gave it a bit of a twist (not original, but a twist nonetheless).  He had about two chapters of wrap up to go when the kid crept in through the door, croagunk in his arms.

"Good afternoon," he greeted as he shut the door behind them, the croagunk croaking something similar.

000 glanced up from over the top of the paperback.  "...'Afternoon," he hesitated.

The kid didn't move from in front of the door.  "Are you feeling any better?"

"...A bit, yeah.  Thanks for the fruit," he shrugged, unsure of where this game was going- likely nowhere and likely not a game.  This kid was an odd one. "Book's all right. Lotta predictable. Standard pulp fiction."

"Ah, yes, that one is.  'Avoiding extraneous concentration' were a part of the medical recommendations for recovering from a concussion, and as such that is one of the few books on my person that achieved that particular specification."

000 cocked an eyebrow, "So you did leave it with me on purpose."

"Yes."

"Okay kid, what the actual fuck?" he snapped, "Why the hell are doing this?"

The kid scowled, maintaining his decisions much to 000's surprise, "I am being polite.  This is not a mentally stimulating situation in the slightest and you must be experiencing some profuse boredom."

"Bored?" the IP agent cocked an eyebrow, "You know I'm about a week from your man turning me into homicide victim, right?  Or did you forget?"

"Negotiations for your freedom could prove successful."

"The International Police doesn't negotiate, not with the likes of you," 000 spat, not adding that they also wouldn't negotiate in favor of the likes of their field chief.

The kid scowled, "In any case, you are welcome."

" _In any case_ , you are the worst fucking Rocket grunt I've ever run into," the other man replied, balling up the trenchcoat and tossing it at the kid.  His croagunk squirmed out of his arms to pick it up, sticking his tongue out at 000 in the process. "Here, I got a blanket, I don't need it."

He didn't need it out of weird pity by his captors in any case. He'd rather freeze on the concrete floor.

Well, no he wouldn't.  Gross as the duvet was though, it could still serve its purpose.  The kid could keep his trenchcoat and his misguided generosity.

"I am not in Team Rocket," the kid informed him, picking up it and the croagunk.

He rolled his eyes.  "Might as well be. You're fucking their boss, or did you forget that too?"

The kid made a 'hmph' noise and didn't dignify 000 with an answer.

"I'm keeping the pulp though, I still got a couple chapters left," 000 decided.  Nothing better to do, and it took his mind off the lack of cigarettes.

"Very well," he repeated as he opened the door, "I am glad to see you still live."

000 waited until the door shut before grumbling, "Can't understand why."

-

He vaguely regretting arguing with the kid.  Once he did finish the book, he'd never been so Tapu-damned bored in his entire life.  Monday came and went, leaving 000 to stare ceiling and contemplate the conversation taking place about his termination.  

The director of Intel would be shouting about how long overdue this decision was and how they should have released 000 two years ago when he turned down the Brass the first time.  The comptroller would grumble something about how he should have been fired back when they had some success with recruiting, or better yet, never hired him at all. The Public Relations director would make some positive remark about his stellar track record, before admitting the Opelucid City affair four or five years back (five? Five didn't seem right, 000 wasn't _that_ old yet) was a bad sign and they could have cut their losses then.  Someone would point out that the last Team Rocket affair was the perfect moment to cut their losses, and why someone let him in the building after that was anyone's guess.

The director of Field Operations would take all the discrediting with tight lips, before replying with something to the effect of 'I admit there was some oversight in our decision to not terminate agent 000 after the previous infraction'."  And that would be the end of 000's fifteen year (...definitely couldn't be fifteen, though the alternative was seventeen and 000 wasn't _that_ old yet either).

Then they'd get back to Giovanni, since he would have sent along the ransom terms Saturday morning, if not Friday night.  Well, the kid was cute. He probably waited until Saturday morning. It didn't matter much anyway, the International Police would stew on a response until Wednesday, letting him know that this 'agent 000' was terminated six months ago.  Any actions taken by him weren't within International Police orders, and he could shove his ransom note up his ass. This wouldn't change their position with the Indigo League negotiations.

Someone would come to shoot 000 before Thursday afternoon, in any case.

"Fuck them all," 000 cursed to himself Tuesday morning, smacking the wall.  Fuck the brass, fuck Team Rocket, and most of all, fuck the kid. If the dumbass hadn't gotten himself in over his head, this wouldn't have happened at all.  000 could have pulled an ordinary sting on Gio, from the safety of his office and 221's surveillance screens.

Except no, he couldn't have.  They'd tried that for years and it never worked.  He'd spend another decade chasing terrible leads in convoluted circles.

And no, 000 hated his office almost as much as he hated the entirety of the headquarters building.  He'd have conjured up an excuse to leave and gotten his ass into different trouble. It was just a matter of time and motivation.

And no, this was 000's fault for trying to 'parent the kid into wearing a wire', as 221 put it.  Unlike his plan to seduce Giovanni, this had never been a good one from the start. Fifteen (...really, it couldn't have been fifteen) years ago, no do-gooding close-enough-to-middle-aged sonofabitch would have convinced 000 to go home and do anything else.  It didn't matter if the kid wasn't totally comfortable with the transgressions at hand. He'd pull the trigger in the end. 000 had, and he never looked back since.

Seriously though, it was closer to seventeen years ago.  000 never felt this old before. This kid couldn't be much over seventeen.

He punched the wall again.

The door opened, and 000 glanced up from his misery.  The kid and the croagunk let themselves inside, the croagunk staring down the hostage and scowling.  The agent hoped to the Tapu it could await orders.

"You're up early," 000 pointed out.

"It is almost at the crack of noon," the kid responded, scowling as he crouched down and slid a book across the concrete floor.

The IP agent sat up and picked it up- another paperback crime thriller.  "You got limited taste in reading material, don't you?"

"This one has a less predictable course of plot," he stated without indication that any of his behavior was bizarre.  "How is your head feeling?"

000 shrugged, "Concussion headache turned into a withdrawal migraine.  Any chance of me getting a cup of coffee or a cigarette?"

" _Non_ ," the kid said, "You might burn something down."

"Yeah I'd be dumb enough to light this concrete room I'm trapped in on fire, you're right," he snorted, before changing the subject, "Surprised Gio lets you give me anything at all."

The kid didn't respond to that.

000 couldn't keep the corner of his mouth from turning into a grin, "Doesn't know you're down here?"

"He holds obtuse knowledge of the actions occurring in any base of operations he pays visits to."

"So he's out of town, then," 000 deduced.  

The kid didn't respond to that either.  No ability to lie, fantastic quality in a Rocket grunt.

"Your secret's safe with me," he told him, "Probably out harassing the Indigo League in some secret meetings about the negotiations."

"Perhaps…" his voice held a mild quiver of panic.

"Cool off, I'm serious.  I'm not going to beat the gift mudsdale or however that saying goes," as tempting as that was, "...you were right about the boredom."

"There is not terribly more excitement in the rest of this base," the kid shrugged, sinking to the floor with his back on the door.

"There's probably coffee," 000 complained.  And freedom. Honestly, he'd behave and ignore the freedom bit for a cup of coffee and a fucking smoke.

"Only perhaps if you consider sludge a form of coffee," the kid countered, "And not some gross bastardization."

"I'm in the fucking International Police.  It's not coffee if it's not a borderline solid," 000 laughed, making the other man shudder.

He shook his head.  "It is something of a disgrace to the plant itself."

"It ain't all that great of plant to begin with, trust me. Tried growing it once." It was a notorious bitch.  In an effort to save money as a teenager, Nanu went about that venture for two weeks before Hala's bewear ate all the berries off.  In a fury of irritation (that he did nothing about, out of fear of both Hala and his bewear), Nanu decided the p100 for a cup at the Pokemon Center was more than worth it.

"So you did originate in Alola, then," the kid pointed out, grinning, "You have no accent."

000 gulped.  Most of his  _coworkers_ that didn't have that particular tidbit of knowledge about him.  His origins weren't much of a point of pride. Overly kind dumbass or no, the kid was in Team Rocket and part of the enemy that would turn him into a homicide case in a few days.

Well, it didn't matter much in that light.  "Spent a hell of a time getting rid of it," he admitted.  "Traveled a bunch, then?"

"Non ," he shook his head, "Reading."

"Shame.  With money like yours, I'd have bolted around the world."

The kid glared at 000 with an intensity the IP agent hadn't expected.   "It was not my money."

"Don't give that noble shit," 000 chuckled, "We've got files on you for days.  I personally had to sift through all your credit card statements, we know who paid for you before Giovanni came into the picture."

Caught in his bullshit, the kid pulled his knees to his chest and put his head down.  The croagunk tried to hug him, rubbing his face into his dress shirt. Hopefully the damned thing didn't have poison touch, since 000 wasn't in the mood for vomit.  He didn't need vomit on the floor any more than he need to lose his duvet cleaning up vomit.

"...I did not realize I was a person of interest with the International Police," he muttered into his knees.

"We've got dozens of pictures of you heading into the building with Giovanni and not leaving for the night, you aren't sneaky," 000 told him with an eye roll.

"Wonderful," he gripped at his slacks, "Then I suppose you are intending to chastise me for being a spoiled child."

"You're more than welcome to hate your fortune upbringing as far as I care," 000 told him, thumbing mindlessly at the paperback.  Of all the things to get sensitive about, the kid's distaste for his folks were least of his problems. The IP didn't care if he was a mass murderer (well, they would, but only in the sense that they could put a wire on him if he was).  "The Tapu knows, I hate mine."

"I was in every attempt to make something better of myself," he defended.

" _Rocket grunt_ is sort of a funny way of doing that."

"I'm not in Team Rocket," the kid spat, "This wasn't planned."

"True love rarely is, I guess," 000 shrugged, "Wouldn't know."

That had been everyone's excuse back home.  Nanu made the decision to never let something so idiotic happen upon him and leave him stranded on one of those rocks.  Better to leave, join a bunch of brutes in the guise of cops, bring some semblance of order to the world, and die in a closet in the process.

Actually, all things considered, he couldn't hate how this would turn out in comparison.

"I suppose not," the kid said, though his voice lost its bite.  "...I did not want to continue my life according to my parents' expectations.  They… were not particularly fond of me and certainly did not want me around. I see no point in following their standards, nor anyone else's.  You are welcome to have your own opinions, but they will not sway me."

"Kid, I get it," 000 rolled his eyes, "I said I've got a whole file on you.  Rich dad winds up son he didn't want too late in life, leaves mom for the mistress anyway.  Sends the kid off to boarding school to cut down on the friction with her, but there's still holidays he's gotta show face at and everybody's gotta make a fake effort on your unwanted behalf.  And then I'm guessing everybody had the gall to have an opinion on what career you could pick up to not embarrass the family any further than your existence already did. I'd have left skid marks peeling out of that."

The kid went red and picked up his croagunk, squeezing it in a hug.  The croagunk looked ready to puke acid on its trainer, but put up with it anyway.  It probably came with him from Kalos and probably had dealt with him in this state several dozen times over.

"Don't get embarrassed.  Standard business is to put a profile together," 000 told him, "Though thanks for the confirmation, I guess.  One of my surveillance techs owes me a beer now."

That earned him a glare from overtop two skinny knees and a grumpy croagunk.  "Hmph."

"Don't join Team Rocket if you don't want your dirty laundry aired to two dozen assholes."

"I'm not in Team Rocket," the kid snapped, before going quiet to wallow in embarrassment.  000 felt a little bad. No teenager in the history of the world wanted their private thoughts aired, doubly so when their intentions turn into fuckups out of their control.  He should have given the kid some credit for not being a total ass (he wouldn't, because Team Rocket was one hell of a fuckup and 000 wanted a fucking cigarette).

"I suppose this is a lesson learned," the kid muttered before turning the conversation, "So then why did you leave Alola?"

No thirty-something wanted their private thoughts aired either, 000 realized poignantly.  It was bad enough the kid knew where he was from.

Whatever, he'd be dead in two days anyway.  He made the kid plenty uncomfortable enough.  A little pointless history would be least painful way of putting them on even ground again.  It wasn't like it meant anything to 000 anymore.

"Same as you," the IP agent shrugged, "Only Alola's bullshit definition of family means you get to disappoint damn near everyone when you don't do exactly what they fucking expect out of you, not just the two assholes that decided getting drunk and fucking each other wouldn't have repercussions.  Everyone loves everyone, except for that one dumbass who won't stop running his fucking mouth and won't show his face at one more Tapu-damned festival. Tapu Bulu help us all if he starts saying he won't get hitched at twenty and pop out a few more kids for everyone else to parent. He's too smart not to do that, apparently.  Too smart to think maybe there's something better in life than spending eternity catering to dumbass tourists and listening to everyone's minutia. He's some kind of infectious bad egg for not figuring out he's supposed to enjoy living in a hopeless rock with no opportunities and letting his 'family' obligations keep him trapped there."

It wasn't until 000 ended his tirade and saw the startled look on the kid's face that he realized his voice had gone up a few decibel levels.  His skin went a little red with flush. He'd put down these sort of thoughts years ago. The Alolans were… ignorant. Alola didn't have opportunities and despite the constant stream of tourists, it didn't have overwhelming exposure to the outside world.  In light of no better option, they developed a herd mentality. That was all. 000 wasn't going back; it would never affect him. He told himself six months into his employment with the International Police that everything shitty about Alola was behind him and would stay there.

000 blamed the kid.  The thoughts about his homeland were going back behind him now.  Good to know their ugly reappearance could be a thing, he supposed.  Now he wouldn't let them surface on the next hopeless teenager he tried to save.

"...Anyway, I was on the first flight out the second I saved up enough for the ticket," he finished with, glossing over the rant and staring at a point on the wall a few feet to the left of the kid,  "Whatever the case, I get where you're coming from and couldn't give a damn if everyone else thinks you're ungrateful for it."

That was a lie.  He felt bad for the kid.  He felt bad because at least Nanu had a halfway shit life on Alola and could spin a yarn that made him not sound ungrateful as fuck for bolting.  No one would feel any sympathy for the spawn of some wealthy Kalosians.

The kid stared at him with some sort of intent.  000 had stopped making any kind of presumptions. If he didn't know better, the kid had not only come to the realization that leaving Kalos didn't make him a horrible person, but also that he hadn't been the first person on the face of the planet to turn his back on something objectively _okay_.

Joining Team Rocket did make him a horrible person though, yes, and also a dumbass.  000 would maintain that.

"...Why did you join the International Police?" the kid asked after a prolonged silence, during which 000 trying to make eye contact with everything but the other man and the croagunk.

That one he had to laugh at a bit.  "Honest to Fini truth? Found 'em first.  Job hunting got boring as hell real quick, so I watched this shifty Unovan motherfucker following another dude around Saffron instead.  Tailed him for a week, figured out he was an International Police agent, cornered him, and asked for a job. Needed the money and traveling around the world to make it sounded like a good time.  Back then they were half an organization anyway so they gave it to me."

"What do you think you would have done if you hadn't?"

"I don't like to play the 'what if' game, kid," he shot, "I wouldn't have been dumb enough to join Team Rocket, if that's what you're fishing for."

"I'm not in Team Rocket," he repeated, like a mantra.

"I don't like being the one to break this to you, but you're fucking their boss.  When you get caught, you're gonna be tried as a member of Team Rocket," 000 informed him, shaking his head, "Doesn't matter if you joined up formally or not."

"...I suppose that is true," the kid sighed, picking at the cuticle on his thumb.

"Stay away from the front fucking front door of your apartment complex and learn how to spin a fucking alibi," 000 advised under his breath before he could stop himself.  Whatever. It didn't matter anyway, he'd be dead in a few days and after that he couldn't give a damn about what happened with the case.

The kid gave another shrug at the advice and squeezed his croagunk.

A door opened somewhere in the hall beyond the closet-cell, and two grunts cursed at the prospect of feeding the hostage.  The kid jerked up, picking Croagunk up with him and turning white.

"Looks like you get some practice in," 000 chuckled, "Guess it's time for you to scramble unless you want bologna."

"Yes, it appears that is the case," the kid responded, "Have a good afternoon."

The kid disappeared out the door.  As 000 cracked open his latest pulp fiction, he listened to him bumble an excuse about Giovanni requesting some information out of their hostage.  The goons didn't question it, ignoring him to chuck the lunchtime bologna sandwich into the cell and go about their business. A court wouldn't be as dumb as as the goons.

The kid was fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's early, but everybody I know locally is AWOL this evening so I had time to edit.
> 
> Looker isn't going to get a real name because I didn't want to give him one. He's 'the kid' from here until someone gifts him with a better one.
> 
> Late addition: I totally forgot until now, but credit for Nanu's start with the IP goes to Brick. This is definitely their wonderful headcannon.


	3. Consolation Coffee, with Commiseration Cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu finds some common ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Abusive relationship (physical and verbal) happening offscreen. Improper handling of a person in abusive relationship (I know there's a proper way to support people these situations, I'm not socially adept enough to know what it is, 000 was written with how I know I'd botch it all). Physical cheating offscreen, emotional cheating up for debate. More person-on-person violence. Blood. Other injuries. Near death experience. Age gap relationship still a thing. Platonic bedsharing. Smoking. Language, themes, bologna, the usual.

****The next time the kid showed up, he brought coffee.

For a hot second after he appeared in the doorway, 000 shot to a state of mad as hell.  They _just_ had a conversation yesterday in regard to how 000 would kill for bad coffee (maybe not in explicit, but he'd made it clear he'd drink  'sludge'). This was insult to injury. 000 prepared to hate him for it when the kid requested the hostage not move.

"Hm?" he couldn't be sure he heard the kid right. Given the shit that came from his mouth, 000 operated in a constant status of assuming he'd misheard.

"...Do not get up," the kid repeated, taking a shaking step forward, "Stay right as you are, perfectly still."

The croagunk scowled at the hostage, his cheeks puffing in some attempt of threat display.  000 missed Sableye. It would take care of that kind of threat.

He was kidding himself. Sableye would ignore it and continue trying to eat concrete.  The Tapu knew, it failed to stop the Rocket Grunts that invaded the motel room. Knowing the pokemon, 000 would get through this mess, wander back into his apartment, and see it sitting on the couch, chewing on an asphalt slab. Wouldn't be the first time.

"...okay," 000 huffed from his mattress, curious to see where this went.

The kid strode over, placed the cup of coffee by the side of the bed, and jumped backward against the door like the styrofoam burned.

"You know I'm not gonna jump you right?" 000 asked, trying to control his desperation as he picked up the coffee cup.  The smell was intoxicating, too much to worry the kid had poisoned it (...he hadn't; given everything else about the dumbass, 000 knew this consciously before seventeen years of IP instincts kicked in).  "Pretty sure you're stronger than me."

"One can never act with too much care, non?" he pointed out, petting the croagunk on the head.

000 took a sip. It didn't taste sludgey and its consistency came in at 'almost viscous.' The temperature was a little lukewarm, but coffee was coffee.  The agent had spiked worse with cheap vodka back at the office. "Thanks," he said, a bit embarrassed of his furious need for caffeine.

The kid beamed, "I'm glad you like it."

000 more than liked it.  He all but chugged the cup and still debated licking the styrofoam clean. "You were right about the pulp by the way.  The plot is a little less obvious in this one. I'ma need another day with it."

"Ah yes, this one holds more excitement I think." He sat down against the door, pulling Croagunk into his lap.  The pokemon burrowed its face into his baggy dress shirt.

In light of the coffee, 000 decided to press his luck.  Either the kid would give him a few lingering half-bullshit answers or he'd get pissed off and leave 000 be for the afternoon.  Both options were palatable, but the kid felt warm and fuzzy enough to show up bearing gifts. The former might turn possible. "So how exactly _does_ a kid who likes detective novels and brings prisoners caffeine wind up in Team Rocket?"

The kid scowled and the croagunk prepped to pounce.

000 shrugged off the reaction.  The kid hadn't _left_ so he might get an answer out of him after all. "You don't make a hell of a lot of sense, that's all."

"It was not of my intention to become part of Team Rocket," he maintained.  Much to 000's surprise, he kept the story going this time, "We were both patronizing the same bar and he was mentioning he needed some translation help with the Kalosian. I obliged.  I did a this for a few times before… one thing lead to another…"

The kid went tomato red and his tongue tied.  000 got the idea. He'd lived it before.

"How long before he told you about being king of the underworld?"  000 asked.

"I guessed," he shrugged, "Somewhat. Based on the material he requested a translations of, his work seemed quite shady and he held obvious wealth.  I believed perhaps he worked in some sort of Rocket administration. After confronting him in regards to the matter, he clarified his role."

"And then you stuck around."

"It wasn't behavior my family would have accepted from me," he shrugged, staring at the ceiling, "It sounded exciting.  I did not make extensive plans prior to my arriving in Kanto so there was nothing better for me to be doing. And besides the fact, I am quite good at… parts of it."

000 narrowed his eyes at the past tense, but kept his mouth shut.  He wouldn't press his luck this far. He still had another day or two before Team Rocket would off him.  The agent would yet weasel the kid into a realization that he should get the hell out of dodge.

The kid fit an interesting bill though- eager do anything that would earn him some praise and fall into his parents' definition of 'unrespectable career.'  He'd work doubletime for it too. Back in the day, the International Police would have promised him the world to snatch him off the streets.

"You're fucking awful with hostages," 000 replied instead.

"....Admittedly, I feel guilt with regards to your situation.  You are here because of my faults, and you are only trying to complete the course of your designated mission."

"You told your man you had a unwanted guest in a social call," the IP agent shrugged, "Not unexpected. It was _not_ my best attempt at undercover."

He was shit at that to begin with, but no reason to grace the kid with that knowledge.

The kid glanced up at him, the look on his face somewhere between remorse and pity.  "I knew your identity. I correctly identified you as International Police on the first occasion of your interaction with Giovanni as well."

The empty cup fell from 000's hands.  "First occasion?"

He nodded.

"You mean the club I tailed him to like six months ago."

Another nod.

"...So that rat bastard knew I was in the International Police?" the agent seethed.  "How fucking long?!"

"For the entire duration of your affair.  I made an educated guess based on your inquisitions that he mentioned after your first meeting.  He was… able to corroborate my theories."

The whole Tapu-damned time.

Giovanni knew 000 was International Police the whole Tapu-damned fucking time.

"Fuck!" 000 punched at his mattress, scratching his knuckles against the springs, "Fucking… he was just fucking _toying_ with me.  The fucking bastard knew what I was after."

The kid put his head against his knees, smothering the poor croagunk in his lap.  "That he was."

All of that intel was nothing more than what Giovanni wanted the International Police to see.  He showed 000 enough to whet his appetite. The chief thought that after over a decade, he'd come close to a bag on his target, when instead he'd been lead around by the nose.  He almost lost his job (and his life) for _nothing_.  Well, not even for nothing, but so the big boss could have a _laugh._

And as insult to the injury, 000 had no idea even after the plan went south.

"Fucker," 000 repeated, tempted to curl into a ball himself.  He was going to die here for nothing. Seventeen years in the International Police, and all he accomplished was fucking the leader of Team Rocket.  Even a dumbass (but cute) kid from Kalos, fresh off the plane, managed that on the regular.

Which lead 000 to a different startling conclusion, "Fuck, I blew him in the bathroom that night.  Did you know about that?"

The kid wrenched his head against the door with a sickening thud.  He ignored it, though his eyes winced shut. "I was aware of the majority of your interactions, if that is your question," he pronounced, not hiding an undercurrent of dismay, "However, not _that_ in specific."

"Shit," 000 flopped backwards onto his mattress, his head grazing against the concrete wall, "Sorry."

"You were not aware."

"That wouldn't have stopped me," 000 admitted. It really wouldn't have, though finding out in retrospect that the kid got double timed came with a distressing amount of guilt.  000 tried to ignore it. That emotion likely bubbled because he was right fucking in the room, trying to hold the water in his eyes. "So, still. Sorry."

The kid didn't respond, keeping his eyes glued shut and his croagunk wrapped in his arms.  They stayed in silence for a few minutes, both wallowing over their misfortune at 000's revelation (and the kid no doubt stuck imagining a grotesquely biological act between his lover and a halfwit IP chief).  000 propped himself on his elbows and looked him over. He didn't look ready to cry. If anything, the kid looked defeated.

"Why the hell did you put up with it?" The question came from genuine curiosity.  The kid didn't seem the type for open relationships, not open in the sense of his partner hatefucking their collective worst enemy, anyway.

"Forwarding the greater goal." The response sounded automated, though he added to it.  "It was a point of contention."

"Yeah, I'd imagine so."  000 wracked his brain for something somewhat less horrible to discuss when a watch beeped.  He checked his own out of instinct, but the kid clicked off the one on his wrist. With a deep breath, he stood.

"I must depart, the grunts will be arriving with your lunch within the half hour and I am limited in the number of excuses I can procure to be here," he announced as he opened the door.

"Fair enough," 000 breathed, "Thanks for the coffee."

For a second, he debated telling the kid to get the hell out of dodge.  This was a fucked situation and he deserved better, and he could find better if he would just _leave_.  Nobody on the planet deserved to be wrapped up in this shit.

The door shut before 0000 could elucidate this point.

-

The offense Giovanni committed against 000 pissed him the hell off.  He'd spend years recovering his credibility for that. Well, he wouldn't, since he'd been terminated and would die here.  But _perhaps_ if he hadn't lost all his dignity, they would have sent a rescue party.

That was also a joke.  The International Police would not risk their own asses to save a field chief, particularly one on an unapproved mission.  He would die for _no reason_ , which infuriated him most of all.

The offense Giovanni committed against the kid _unsettled_ him, however.  The fact he could elicit that emotion on the kid's behalf, given the circumstances, unsettled him further.  This must be that old and soft trait oft-quoted in terrible detective fiction (when in reality, the older agents turned jaded and sadistic).  000 had transcended into a stereotype.

As a stereotype, he couldn't ass himself out of bed the rest of the afternoon to check for another escape route.  It didn't exist. 000 already knew this. He'd have to kill a grunt in the split second it took to drop him his bologna and water, then overpower the rest of the grunts on the way to the exist.  Difficult to do on an average day of his existence, doubly so considering his total consumption since Friday night amounted to bologna sandwiches, a tangerine, and a cup of coffee.

000 would die here, sometime within the next seventy-two hours if he had to make a guess.  Maybe the League would wait to publicize their proceedings until Monday, that would give him another weekend. Maybe Sableye would behave more like any other type of pokemon and seek out its trainer (if he got out of this alive, he'd be picking up a second that _did_ hold some modicum of loyalty… maybe an Umbreon).

This situation was hopeless.

000 couldn't get his mind off the kid to process how much so.

The kid didn't visit until the next afternoon, well after lunch.   His appearance shocked 000, who hadn't expected to see him again at all.  If 000 had been that humiliated, he'd have steered clear until the heat death of the universe.  Granted, the kid already knew Giovanni had two-timed him with an IP agent.  The agent in question was the only one to experience the humiliating revelation.  To think, he waltzed in _knowing_ the hostage he consoled with coffee had been carnally intimate with his boyfriend.

"Fancy meeting you here," 000 greeted from the mattress, "Finished the book this morning."

"Ah, I hope you found it to your liking," he said, "Though I do not believe there is anything surprising about us seeing each other here.  You are… well, here with no other options and I am the only one who comes beyond the door to my knowledge."

000 gave him a blank stare, unsure if his comment was serious, "...It's sarcasm."

The kid thought through this for a second, before letting out a chuckle, "So it is.  I understand."

"....Right," the agent noted.  "No croagunk today?"

He shook his head and pulled a pokeball out of the pocket of his trousers, "I go nowhere without him."

"That's fair, I guess.  Wish I could say the same about Sableye."

"Ah… yes, that is unfortunate…"

000 shrugged, "I'm not worried.  Its half wild anyway."

"Ah… yes.  That I suppose is a fortunate thing for you," the kid shifted, digging around in his pockets, "Ah… here."

He tossed a metal tin at 000, who caught it in one hand.  He recognized it halfway through the air- the bossman's silver cigarette case.  His breath caught in all the excitement and the tin almost dropped from his hands.  The kid brought him some fucking smokes.

"You're shitting me," the chief said as soon as he could collect his jaw from its drop, "You got a light, right?"

"Obviously," he huffed, the next toss a green plastic lighter.  Giovanni carried a silver and gold refillable one, this must have been the kid's.

000 caught it and immediately lit up.  The first inhale sent him dizzy as the smoke drew down his throat and the nerves in his broken teeth on the way. Every muscle unclenched save the comforting strain on his lungs.  He all but forgot about the kid standing a few feet away at the door.

000 tossed the case back at him, presuming he wanted to join.  "Didn't peg you for a smoker."

"Ah, on some occasions," the kid admitted, taking one out of the case and catching the subsequent lighter tossed to him, "In typical only when I have been drinking quite a bit."

"You should cut that shit out," 000 told him as he clicked the cheap lighter on, "They'll kill you."

The kid chuckled as he exhaled, getting that joke.  "As I have been cautioned several times in the previous.  Do not tell Croagunk, this makes him upset with me."

"It'll be our secret," 000 grinned.  He took a long drag before continuing, blowing the smoke straight upwards, "Surprised Gio lets you have these.  He's a damn nit about people touching his shit."

Irony for a man who made his living on theft.

"I am permitted to do as I please," the kid insisted, "Within reason."

"As long as you check in with him at the end of the night?" 000 prodded.

"...He prefers to confirm when I have settled in for the evening," he rephrased, "He worries.  The grunts are not… horribly fond of me."

"...Yeah, I'm sure that's it," 000 muttered under his breath.  The old bastard could be possessive. Hell, he did a good job of acting it with 000, the Tapu only knew how he treated someone he _liked_.

He expected some semblance of anger at his comment, but all he got was a defeated shrug out of the kid.  "Perhaps."

"...your situation is kind of fucked," 000 blurted, unable to keep it to himself, "Sorry.  It ain't my business-" it sort of was, because he'd interjected himself into it, "-but this doesn't seem real good."

As if there could be something _healthy_ about dating the boss of Team Rocket.

"Perhaps."

That was the closest affirmation the kid gave so far.  To think, his bullshit plan might have worked had he not been kidnapped and stuffed in a closet.  Then he could not be an unemployed homicide case and on his way into pestering a new kid, one who could wear a wire.

Except not, because Giovanni duped 000. All the information from that debacle was tailored to him, half of it probably inaccurate.  Probably more than half. The chief would never slip a wire on anyone, even if by some miracle he made it out of the closet alive.

"...Kid, he's feeding you shit.  There was no 'good of the organization' with me, he just wanted to fuck around with the International Police," 000 told him point blank, realizing himself why this was so fucked up, "He's probably got insiders if he wanted information.  I didn't feed him shit."

The kid stopped making eye contact with the other man. "Perhaps..."

"Just saying, you're too good for this shit."

"Now your words sound as my parents' do," he grumbled, staring at the floor.

000 realized his idiocy- too much pushing.  Old age caught him, he wasn't any better than the aunties and uncles back home. "...Sorry."

Lame shrug.  "There are good parts to it."

"Guess so," he tabled the discussion. The kid wasn't going to have a divine revelation over a smoke with a hostage. "Pass me that, I'm stealing another while it's here."

The kid obliged, though he took his own first. Gio always did have good cigarettes.

"Any word of how this mess is going?" he asked, turning the tables to his own situation as he lit another coffin nail.  He may as well press all his luck at once, he got the cigarettes and he still hadn't pissed off the kid with any permanence.   "Not that marinating over my impending death hasn't been fun."

The kid lit another off the butt of his first before speaking. "On his mind he has some issue larger than the League negotiations.  If I had knowledge of it, I would not be able to tell you, but… I don't."

"Search me," 000 replied, with actual honesty, "I only handle Organized Crime, and we didn't have a damn thing on our plate that wasn't capturing your man."

The agent didn't know what the Rocket boss's game was.  He'd be better off with 000 dead. No other agent installed at chief of Org Crime would go to the same extents to trap him.  Granted, Giovanni had his fingers in as many games at the IP. He could be playing any of them right now with the chief as an attempted pawn.

With any luck, 000 would find a way out before he realized what a truly worthless pawn the agent was.

"Perhaps it is something minute, such as a plea bargain for some of the Kalos grunt."

"Perhaps not, I'm worth more than that," he interjected with half-sarcasm.  

The kid laughed at the joke, but they both knew the reality underneath it.  Something brewed overhead and neither had a damn clue. They were two dumbasses on opposite sides of the fence, both equally in the dark.

000 shook his head.  He didn't have any solidarity with the kid.  It was a projection, since he had no one else right now.  He'd been through enough psyche briefings to know the difference.  The kid was a soft idiot Giovanni picked up, who couldn't play the game yet.  One day he would, long after he was a complicit in the chief's execution.

"Thanks for the smokes at least," 000 said, in legitimate gratitude.  His head had started spinning days ago.

The kid smiled from ear to ear, sticking his dead butts in his pockets, "You can keep the the rest."

000 cocked an eyebrow, "What if your man comes back?"

"Blame the grunts," the kid chuckled, "As is usually done.  This evening he will return, it is safe for the assumption he will be thoroughly distracted into not realizing it has gone missing."

"Didn't need that image, but thanks," 000 shuddered.  The kid was… a lot younger than Giovanni- 'illegal two years ago' levels of younger.  He wasn't shocked but he wasn't comfortable with it either.

"Consider it a retribution for earlier."

"I think you mean 'payback'," the agent corrected, with a half smile, "But I guess that's fair."

"Absolutely," the kid stood, stretching and patting himself down.  He probably needed to go wilt on a fainting couch or whatever Giovanni expected him to do in his absence.  "Ack, I meant to bring you reading material to exchange. It slipped my mind. My apologies, it was not intentional!"

"Don't worry about it," 000 rolled his eyes, but he smiled.  This kid was unbelievable. "I'll reread this one."

"If you are sure… I do not believe I would be able to make it back here again tonight…" his face held a look of legitimate worry.

000 felt bad he cared.  He'd make a terrible grunt.  "Don't get your ass into trouble with the boss."

The kid excused himself, leaving with half a sound as always.  000 flopped backwards on his mattress and stared at the ceiling.  None of this situation made any sense. If Giovanni had an inkling 000 might be a good person, he'd say it was an elaborate ruse to keep the IP agent from breaking out.  The kid could be some kind of actor.

If anything though, 000 played up being a bastard with the crime lord.  Giovanni had no reason to believe the agent was capable of pity. Besides, the kid's background checked out- dumbass trying to escape home.  Whatever he was, 000 needed to stop worrying about him and worry more about getting out.  This wasn't his fight. The kid had to wisen up or live with the consequences on his own time.  Right now, he wasn't more than a dumbass teenager caught up in something to big for him, much like Nanu almost two decades ago.

-

The goons got whiff of the cigarettes at dinner.  000 should have figured. Giovanni's never smelled all that strong, but given the agent and the kid had already fried their nostrils, they couldn't tell as well as a nonsmoker.  The goon with the tinfoil sandwich knew the second he opened the door.

All the shouts of 'one of your bastard friends dropped 'em in here' didn't save 000's ass.  He didn't try to defend himself when two more showed up and they took turns slugging him before upturning the makeshift cell.  They found the cigarettes stuffed behind the mattress and hit him a few more times. In the end, those were confiscated, along with his most recent bologna sandwich.

The only saving grace to the whole situation was that they figured the book came with 000, and wasn't gifted by Giovanni's boytoy.

Maybe he'd fair better.

-

000 had finally drifted off to sleep, despite the bruises, when the door wrenched open and  slammed shut. He jolted out of bed, expecting a goon. The lights stayed off.

"It is only I," the kid muttered through the dark, sounding exhausted.  000 listened to him plop onto the concrete.

"The fuck are you doing?"

He replied with a noncommittal grunt.

000 clambered out of bed and flipped the overhead lights on.  The kid, crumpled in the trenchcoat at his feet, bled from his nose down the front of his shirt, with his lip split and his eye swollen.  All of the International Police experience in the world didn't prepare 000 for the sight. Everyone he'd watched bleed out (usually after shooting them himself) didn't give the same visceral reaction that almost sent him out of his skin.

"The fuck?!" he shouted, "What happened?!"

The kid shushed him, not making eye contact, or any other acknowledgement that 000 was more than noise. "We cannot be heard! ...I cannot be, in any case."

"The fuck happened?" 000 repeated, but quietly.  "Who the fuck did this?"

He got a shrug in response.

"Where the fuck was fucking Giovanni?! Isn't he supposed to be ba-" 000 cut himself short, putting the pieces together, "Fuck.  Don't tell me it was him."

Another lame shrug.

000 didn't have time to process how _monumentally_ fucked up the kid's situation was.  "Gimme your shirt," he ordered, in his chief voice, "We need to clean you up and I'm limited on cloth."

As much as he needed to fix the situation, he drew the line at using his boxers or t-shirt when the kid lived nearby.

The kid fumbled to slip his coat off and undo the buttons on his shirt, still staring into the floor.  000 carted over the latest gallon of water, half full from the day's use. He'd get more tomorrow, he could spare some.  The white button down wound up torn in two, half going to the kid with the instruction to keep his head up and his nose pinched, and the other half went to wiping the blood off his neck.  He was bruised well underneath his shirt, though some of the bruises were flat purples and some had gone all the way to yellow and green.

This wasn't the first time, 000 concluded with a sigh.

"You too, hm?" the kid asked, finally glancing at 000.

The agent in question still had smears of dried blood caked on himself, and the bruises down his arms bloomed black.  He hadn't had anything besides his fingers to wipe off with from earlier. That could wait until he finished with the kid.  "Some of the grunts noticed the cigarette smoke."

"...I know," the kid admitted, checking if his nose had stopped bleeding (it hadn't, 000 recoiled away to avoid being dripped on).  "They were caught by Giovanni while smoking outside the building when he returned earlier. He was not pleased I failed to guard his personal stash effectively."

"I'll say," 000 replied, unable to come up with something… well, better.  "He think you've been down here?"

He shook his head, nearly beaning 000 with the shirt-rag. "Thankfully, no.  He is certain I detest you."

The agent withdrew his hand from the kid's shoulder.  "....Do you?"

Another shrug.  "You are fine, I think."

"It's…. sort of concerning you think that, but okay."  Maybe in light of the beating he took, not so unbelievable.  "...Some of your bruises are old."

The kid shut his eyes.

In that moment, the whole kit and caboodle came together.  This kid was over his head, yeah. He found himself on a crash course and couldn't pull up, yeah.  He'd only meant to rebel a bit and found himself locked into a seedy underbelly he had no business in, also yeah. The true reasoning behind it though?

Fuck, this kid was almost as much of a prisoner as 000.

000 was out of his league with this one.  He was out of his league with the other assumptions too, but he had some familiarity.  The fucked up psychotic bullshit happening here was out of his realm to cope with. He couldn't do anything more besides clean the kid up and give him a place to hide out.  The International Police hadn't prepared him for this one.

"He expecting you back anytime soon?"

He shook his head.  "I will be locked out until morning..."

This fell  _way_  out of 000's league.

"Gotcha," 000 breathed, unsure of how to properly respond to the situation.  "You can lie down for a while if you want. Bed smells like ass, but… so does everything else in here."

"...I shouldn't disturb you.  I did not mean to wake you, the decision to do so was misguided.  I didn't know where else to go… it's raining quite badly so the park will flood and I was bleeding too much to go to a bar and wait and-" his eyes started to leak and his breath caught up with him.

"It's fine. Just go lie down."

In any other point in his life, 000 would have used this chance as an escape.  The kid dragged himself over to the mattress and laid down, leaving every door between the agent and salvation unlocked.  Instead he wiped himself off (he could have cleaned up better earlier), shut off the lights, and plopped down somewhere near the kid's feet.  He knew what he was giving up too, as he eyed the general direction door with longing.

Giovanni would kill him instead if the grunts didn't find an IP agent in here the next morning.

This kid was in a hostage situation himself. 000 was at least locked up.  The kid had keys, and he'd been persuaded into not using them. They were two of a kind, which was why 000 liked him in the first place, if unconsciously.

The kid sniffed after a few minutes, the tears catching up to him.

"...you need to get the hell out of here," 000 told him, lacking anything better to say.  He thought for a second maybe a stock 'it'll be all right', but it wouldn't be. The boss would keep beating on him and fucking him up until the kid turned into a scapegoat for something or another.  Then he'd rot in prison, for the bad luck of a runaway crush on a mob boss.

"Where would I go?" he whimpered.

"...Dunno," the IP agent admitted.  With the records the International Police kept on him, he'd be doomed the second he walked past a security camera or used a credit card.  "But anywhere has to be better than here."

"Not everywhere."

000 thought of Alola.  He thought of frustrating nights at the edge of festivals, waiting for a good chance to disappear.  He thought of the uncles and aunties who came out of the woodwork to tell him when he'd done wrong. He thought of the old Kahunas yelling at him to honor the traditions of the island.  He thought of the million unanswered prayers he offered to Bulu to make him not _hate_ Ula'ula with every fiber of his being.

He'd rather die in a closet for trying to save some dumbass Kalosian kid.  His life had been worth something this way. Not a whole lot, all things considered, but he'd made it off the rock and done and few things in the meantime.

"Yeah," he answered, "That's a fair point."

The kid whimpered again but said nothing.

"...you know, it's alright if you wanna cry. Tapu knows, you just got your ass beat in," 000 told him, leaving out the whole bit where his boyfriend did the beating and this has happened before and this kid was on a crash course to fucked up irreparably if not there already. It didn't need to be said.  He deserved a few tears. "I ain't gonna blame you if you do."

The kid shrugged, but gave off the quietest of sobs.  000 put his hand on the kid's shoulder, fresh out of wisdom or ideas of how to handle this.

"You didn't deserve this shit," 000 mumbled, mostly to himself, "...just, know that."

"Yes, yes," the kid sounded angry, though he held back more sobbing, "I should remove myself from this situation, I should find a more reasonable life, I should meet a person who doesn't lose their temper. I. Am. Aware."

"Nah, I meant you didn't deserve to have to consider doing that," the agent clarified, "Shit'll suck whichever way you go. That's not your fault."

He stayed quiet for a bit, before muttering, "It will return to a normal soon enough.  In the morning."

"Your definition of normal terrifies the hell out of me."

That was saying something, seeing as he sat on Team Rocket's effective death row.

"It is apart of it, I suppose. This is perhaps not a normal choice of life path."

"...I wish you'd stop pretending you have much of a choice, kid," 000 muttered, "I'm not sure you do."

"It is different than it looks… things will be fine…"

"I don't trust any of that."

And neither did the kid, because he started to quietly sob into the mattress again.

000 rubbed his back until he whimpered himself into a quiet snore.  That was all he had. The field chief of Organized Crime was in over his head.

-

000 pulled himself out of dreamless sleep when something stirred next to him.  Opening a groggy eye, he saw the kid fumbling to turn off his watch alarm. For a moment, the agent was only half sure he wasn't dreaming.

Right, the kid came down after getting his ass beat.  000 must have dozed off in all the excitement.

"I may not be able to hold a return visit today," the kid informed as he climbed out of bed and picked his coat back up.

"Figured," 000 mumbled in half-waking, sprawling out across the mattress, "Put some… put some ice on your eye…"

The kid smiled as he opened the door, "I will.  Do not be concerned."

-

000 didn't wake until the bologna sandwich and water jug showed up.  Even then, he let it sit on the floor to keep dozing. It'd still be there in an hour or two or tomorrow.  The shit situation wouldn't change one iota.

-

The kid did show up later that day, well after lunch but carting a tinfoil ball and another paperback with him.  Croagunk was absent, in a ball somewhere in his pocket if 000 had to guess. His face hardly looked bruised- a swollen eye and a healing lip the only evidence of the previous night.

"Didn't think I'd see you today," 000 greeted.

"Giovanni is busy," the kid answered his unasked question.

"...is that a real busy or a still mad at you busy?"

"Real busy," the kid mumbled before adding, "We discussed some things earlier."

"That's… good I suppose," 000 responded carefully.  He didn't want to ask what. The kid might tell him, and the answer might be along the lines of 'he promised not to do it again', and that would piss 000 off.

He needed to drop the subject.  This wasn't his damn war. His war was getting out of here alive, and he needed to occasionally focus on how he'd manage that.  "...Your eye looks better."

There was no way in hell 000 would leave in anything but a bodybag.

The kid let out a laugh. "Concealer. It looks a good deal less fortunate underneath of it."

000 wondered if he'd hidden any other bruises the first time they met.  "I should ask you to show me that trick one of these days," he opted for instead.

"Yes… perhaps…" the kid averted his eyes, "I am… truly sorry about last evening.  I let my emotions get the better of me in several ways and disturbed you."

"Kid, you got your ass kicked by your alleged lover," 000 spat before he could keep his thoughts in his head, "I'm not holding your emotional state accountable for that one."

"...You are a good person."

"No, I'm not.  Get that out of your head."

"You care a good deal about others, I do not comprehend your reasoning as to why that would categorize you as a bad person."

"Gets my ass into trouble more often than not," 000 snorted.

"Well, I could not do much and I certainly cannot extract you from your current trouble, but I did bring you something as repayment for your patience," the kid said, sitting down on the mattress and handing him a ball of aluminum foil.

000 unwrapped it- another sandwich, from the looks of it, canned magikarp salad.  Despite the broken teeth and despite a holy distaste for any fish that came in a can, 000 ate it in four bites.  It might have been the best sandwich he'd ever had. He might have lost his Tapu-damned mind (he did, about when he started caring about gifter of said sandwich).  " _Cripes,_ that's the best thing I've eaten in weeks."

The kid gave him an ear to ear grin, stretching the remains of his bruises in the process, "I am glad you enjoyed it."

"Anything is better than bologna."

"I was able to obtain another cigarette as well," he added, pulling two from the breast pocket of his shirt.  He put both in his mouth to light them at once (this time with a pink plastic lighter), before passing one to 000, "It took the entire morning to abscond with them."

"...Thanks," 000 said as he took a drag.  There was something _fucked_ about that implication, like the fact that he needed to steal cigarettes from his abusive lover.  Maybe it was the fact that he'd stolen them when he was earning his apology from Giovanni, to give to the hostage downstairs.

The buzz hit the IP agent as the smoke filled his lungs.  They smoked in silence, for a change. 000 couldn't badger him about Giovanni, not after the previous night.  

For the first time since that flash of smile on the first day of this affair, the kid looked contented.  He leaned back on his elbows, lost in thought (or the lack thereof). He didn't bother guarding the door.  He didn't bother worrying that the other man would strangle him or knock him out. He didn't seem to worry about anything.

The two had reached a silent understanding, and the kid knew it.  They were both hostages. The difference lay in that 000 stayed in a cell.  The kid got real clothes and food and could walk around, for the low price of having to fuck Giovanni on the regular for it and serve as whipping boy with equal regularity. In light of that, the kid's weirdness made sense.  He found worse off prisoner and had to help. That was the long and short of it.

000 took a long drag.  The agent might have also lost his mind, since he was commiserating with Giovanni's boytoy.  Whatever. Maybe he had. He'd die in a few days anyway, and the kid brought him a cigarette.  If he wanted to like the kid, he could like the kid.

It beat the hell out of liking the brass right now, since they'd failed to save his ass.  He wouldn't stoop so low as to like anyone else in this Tapu-damned warehouse anyway.

"...You're all right, you know," 000 told him as he ground the butt out on the concrete.  The kid did the same and offered to collect both in the foil.

"...I wish I could concur with your statement," he replied, more to himself than the agent.

"Well, shit Rocket grunt, yeah, but a good guy."

The kid chuckled at that as he put the foil ball in his pocket.. "I should be returning upstairs soon.  I only had a short window today, but I needed to make my apologies. It… may be some time before I can visit again."

"Yeah… don't push it," 000 shrugged, "You're still black and blue, don't let it get worse on my account."

"It doesn't hurt," he protested.  Kid would do a damn good job as an IP agent.  000 would kill for that kind of response out of his team.  The second they took a sprained ankle or a broken wrist, they called for an extraction.  Hell, 81 went home with a fucking papercut once.

000 patted him on the back, "Keep telling yourself that, kid.  And thanks for the… better sandwich."

"Ah! Of course!  I hope you did enjoy it!"

"Anything is better than bologna right now," he replied, without adding 'even canned magikarp salad', "You sure you're gonna be okay for the night?"

Commiseration went both ways.  He needed to make sure the kid was okay, as best possible.  In reality, he couldn't do a damn thing but the thought counted.

"Ah, I will be fine.  He had several challengers today, that gives him a better mood tha-" the kid froze.

Challengers.

Challengers held one, and only one, connotation in Kanto- Indigo league challengers.

The Viridian City gym leader was a famous recluse, with the Indigo League Elite Four the only ones who knew his real identity.  The International Police didn't even have a name for him. In truth, Intel assumed it was Lance, battling with an alternate team for shits and giggles.  Lance was prone to that sort of behavior. Every few years he challenged the gym leaders for the hell of it.

But, if Intel got the story wrong.

But, if 000 had been picked up in Viridian City.

But, if it was confusing as to why Giovanni kept an apartment there instead of in Vermillion or Cinnabar or somewhere _of strategic value_.

The look of horror across the kid's face exchanged with the nervous epiphany on 000's.  The chief of Organized Crime interpreted the slip on first assumption. Giovanni led the Viridian City gym, which had failed to obtain any sort of registration in the past decade since _their gym leader wouldn't name themselves._

000 had an ID and a hard charge to bag the king of the underworld.

"I need to go," the kid stated as he stood, his words shooting from his mouth, "I may be able to come tomorrow."

"Wait- kid-" 000 had to tell him _something_.  The kid had fucked up, yeah.  That qualified for the biggest slip in the history of thoughtless slips, yeah, but the kid had the power to take down Team Rocket.  He could get out of the warehouse, to contacts 000 knew would listen. He had more than enough personal reason to want Giovanni behind bars.  He could keep his squeaky clean record to boot, since he held the plea deal of the century. The chief of Org Crime couldn't let him walk away, not without talking some Tapu-damned _sense_ into him.  They could both get what they wanted- the kid would get an answer to the question of 'where would I go' (anywhere, if he single-handedly ended Team Rocket), and the agent would end the bastard's reign.

The door slammed shut, nearly catching the kid's coat in the process.

000 said a prayer to Bulu that this wasn't the end of him.  

-

The kid never appeared the next day.  The door opened only for the goons to throw him a bologna sandwich. 000 paced the floor half the afternoon and most of the night, worrying.  The kid had no poker face. If Giovanni found out about what he admitted to, he'd have killed him by now, and probably made a spectacle of it to boot.  The agent's gut wrenched at the possibility. The kid was just that- a dumbass kid, caught up in something too big for him and trying his best to navigate it.  He deserved a boring life with his Croagunk, spending days at some mundane job and weekends at the movies with sweet boys his own age. He deserved to get lost in detective novels. He didn't deserve any of _this_.

When the kid never showed up on the second day, 000 couldn't even force down the bologna sandwiches the goons chucked in the closet with him.  He was gone. That was the long and short of it.

On the third day, not even the goons appeared.  No water jug. No bologna sandwich.

On the fourth day, 000 ate what was left of the bologna sandwiches.  He couldn't hear any activity in the warehouse. The panic shifted from the kid to himself.  A dead base was never a good sign, not one he was still locked in. The chief tried to throw himself at the door a few times, tried to pry it off its hinges, tried to take off doorknob.  All attempts ended in failure.

On day five he beat his knuckles bloody against the door, before giving up on breaking out.  This was the untimely end of him- no bullet, no quick, exciting death to write home about. He'd meet his end starving, locked in a closet in a deserted warehouse.  Nanu didn't even have the energy to be upset about it. Served him right, he died trying to save a dumbass kid against every rule the brass could throw at him and then some. No good deed goes unpunished.

 _Someone_ fucking tried, at least.

By day eight, Nanu was so delirious with dehydration he hardly registered when the door did open.  He vaguely recognized 591's voice announcing in shock that they'd stumbled upon the chief. He didn't remember the other agents that swarmed in, the trip to the hospital, or anything else until he came out of anesthesia at Saffron City General the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually might be the darkest thing I've written since I was an angry high schooler.
> 
> Next chapter might be a few days late for various life reasons.


	4. Saving Ass With Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu doesn't get fired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Language, themes, corrupt police tactics.

The staff at the International Police's medical center didn't deem 000 stable enough to have visitors until day five, but the brass had the mercy to hold off on firing him until day seven.  He beat them to the chase in a quick phonecall on day six, informing them they had good reason to not. Knowing the chief a little too well, the director of Field Ops sent a legal team ahead of her useless secretary. 000 didn't even care that it took legal's involvement to make his hail mary.  He had the evidence of a lifetime: Giovanni was the reclusive leader of the Viridian City gym. The League was probably in on the Team Rocket bounty, or at least turning a blind eye to it.

The director of Intel showed up to take pointless notes on day ten, documenting 000’s words to a T, but never asking how the field chief in question had landed himself in Viridian in the first place.  000 thanked Bulu heartedly for that… he already had this conversation with the director of Intel, and learned there was nothing worse than hearing the man use phrases like 'sexual intercourse with the leader of Team Rocket'.  He wasn't quite on solid foods yet, but he would have vomited anyway if subjected to another few hours of that. OpSec showed up shortly after, though more to badger 000 about everyone he'd spoken to in the last six months and the number of characters in his computer password.  000 had the nurses throw him out, though not after a few rounds of telling him to fuck himself and a demand to speak to Legal.

He got the director of Field Operations instead, on day eleven.

"How nice of you to finally pay your respects," Nanu grumbled, scratching at the IV in his arm.  The director was usually the first on scene to deliver the long list of 000's fuckups. He'd expected her when he called a few days ago, and wound up with her useless dolt of an office assistant.

"I swear to Arceus, Nanu, even when I'm trying to save your ass you make it difficult," she grumbled, as she slammed the door shut, "Could you cooperate until you’re at least out of the hospital?"

"Yes, no, I'm fine, no reason to worry," he gestured at the beeping medical equipment he was attached to.  The Tapu help them all if they started conversations with social pleasantries. Not that 000 made a habit of them either, but in light of the last few days, some recognition he'd cheated death yet again would have been nice.

The director took the seat near his bed, "I know you're fine.  You wouldn't have been causing problems if you weren't."

"Are you talking about OpSec?  I can't even figure out what he was asking me," the chief threw his hands in the air and nearly knocked out his IV, "Half of it was about my computer passwords."

Everyone and their mother knew those weren't secure.  No one in field operations had a secure password, not when the International Police IT dept required fifteen unique characters, one of which needed to be numeric and another pointless symbol.  They made a game of circumventing password security. 000 would have won (the middle row of the keyboard, the numbers 1 through 5, and an exclamation point) if 221 didn't keep a list of his in his desk.

The director pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head.  Distaste for the Director of OpSec fell into the narrow category of 'things the two agreed on'.  She'd offered 000 the position three times in attempt to oust him. "That's why I came instead of legal."

Someone wanted the chief of Field Operations calmed down, no doubt.  This happened every time 000 went under investigation, at least this time he hadn't needed to throw a glass of water anyone.  Granted, _that_ time it had been an intern who knew _nothing_ and even less of 000's competency, yet felt the need to suggest the chief might not have any.  He earned it as far as 000 cared (and 000 earned himself a week's suspension without pay, because it turned out _he_ wasn't being investigated as much as the field chief of Extremist Activity, with whom jointly lead that mission).  "You can't tell me that's relevant to finding out Giovanni is head of the Viridian City gym."

The director leaned in and stared 000 in the face, any trace of emotion wiped from her face.  "It is, because we've had a breach and right now you're our _only_ suspect."

The air conditioner whirred.  The patient in the next room coughed up a lung.  A few nurses chitchatted down the hall, their words incomprehensible.  The heart rate monitor picked up the pace, though 000 swore it skipped a few beats.  "I'm… what?"

"Or at least you were until we found you half dead," she corrected, disregarding her subordinate's uncharacteristically wide eyes.  "Whatever you said, it's… we can work around it."

He wouldn't get arrested for it, she meant.

The charge was absurd in the first place.  000 was an original member of the International Police, one of the first handful recruited.  If he wanted to turn traitor, he would have done it years ago when the repercussions weren't anything to snuff at.  He hadn't done anything to warrant this suspicion.

Except go on two unapproved missions, one of which involved fucking the head of Team Rocket.

Okay, from that perspective and with no further knowledge, 000 looked like a mole.  The brass _knew_ him, though.  They trained him up.  They spent time in the field alongside him.  000 was the agent that always did dumb shit that didn't look like it would work out until it did.  Hell, the OpSec director had led the mission where he scaled the Goldenrod City Radio Tower to chase down an admin (and probably lost all ability to reproduce as a result… for the best, really).  He'd established himself as a Sinnoh gym leader for a month, beaten through every league challenger, and coerced more than a few to talk about where they'd picked up their contraband, before the chief at the time figured out Team Rocket had operations out of Floaroma Town.

It was how 000 always operated.  It _worked_.  And if they would listen to him instead of sending him on a ride on the bureaucratic mobius strip, it would work this time too.

"Nothing, I didn't spill a damn thing," he spat back, funneling his shock into raw anger.  He didn't survive a hostage situation just to get branded a fucking traitor.

The director sighed, "As much as I know that's true, that's even worse."

"I knew I was dead anyway, I wasn't dumb enough to think that'd save me," 000 protested, trying to keep his temper down.  

The heart rate monitor betrayed him, though the director paid the chirping no mind.  She took another deep breath, cleaned her glasses off on her shirt, and replaced them.  If it weren't for the IV and the twenty or so monitor tabs plastered to him, 000 would have jumped out of bed and shaken her.  He wasn't a mole. The brass couldn't accuse him of this.

"What do you know about the Mew project?" she finally asked, just before her field chief decided to damn all the medical equipment chaining him to the bed,"And I swear, if you repeat this conversation to _anyone_ , legal included, I will make sure you rot behind bars for espionage."

"The fuck is a mew?" 000 shot back.  Of course he didn't know what the Mew project was.  It had no direct value to the purpose of stopping Team Rocket and as such, the chief didn't give a shit.

She glared at him, "Nanu, you're not helping yourself.  If you're going to be honest with anyone, be honest with me because no one believes you but me."

"I'm being honest," he felt the IV start to loosen and clasped his other arm over it at risk of another nurse badgering him about shaking out his IV.  Fuck hospitals. He was fine to be released the day before, for whatever reason the useless lump of a trauma physician thought otherwise. 000 had pudding and sports drinks at home, he didn't need to sleep under fluorescent lights in a freezing cold building for that. "I don't know what that is."

"Mew.  The pokemon of legend," she elaborated, her tone growing exasperated, "Pink, about two feet high?  Psychic powers?"

000 cocked an eyebrow and shook his head.

The director looked at him as if her question had been in regards to if he knew what a potion did.  "Do you really not…"

"I'm not from Kanto," 000 reminded her with a grumble.  Of the members of the International Police that knew his ethnicity, the director of Field Operations was one of them.   If the agent was going to be stingy about who was privy to that fun fact, the least they could do was _remember._ "The legends back on Alola involve giant monsters that try to steal the sun."

In comparison, Alola's legends sounded like they beat the pants off Kanto's.  The old auntie that hung around the community center had a story about a dragon so large it could eat skyscrapers.   Tiny pink things would have to have boundless psychic powers to be cooler than that.

Granted, praying to Mew on occasion might get him somewhere.  Praying to the laziest Tapu in the patheon hadn't done much for 000, even if he kept up the practice out of habit.  Beating that last bit of Alola out of him would take more liquor than the shit IP paychecks could provide.

"Fuck, I always forget about that," the director groaned, "So you really know nothing?"

"Zilch."  He crossed his arms, wondering how much he _really_ needed the saline drip anymore.

"Nothing even mentioned to you?  Because Giovanni tried to trade you for information from that project," the tone of the explanation came with a distinct accusation, "Which he should not have known existed in the first place."

000 shook his head, as confused as his boss and twice as frustrated, "I'm not cleared into it, how the hell would I know?"

"I have no idea," she shrugged, "It'd be one thing is anyone from Supernormal _got out_ on occasion, but they're the _one_ tight-lipped division we have.  Have you fucked anybody over there?  That's all I can think of."

"No..." He slapped his hand against his forehead.  His reputation had started to proceed him. He'd be going celibate after all this.

000 didn't swear that one to Bulu, he wasn't dumb enough to make promises he knew he couldn't keep.  Tapu Bulu didn't do repentance. "I don't know a damn thing. I _couldn't_ tell Giovanni things I didn't know.  Not mentioning I _wouldn't_ , even if I knew something.  And even if I wanted to, he threw me in a closet for two weeks _alone_.  I only saw the motherfucker once."

"He didn't say _anything_ to you about this project in that one conversation?  Not even hinted at it?"

"No, he told me he'd bargain me for the Indigo League stuff," 000 rattled off, before recalling his conversation with the kid.  Somewhere out there, far above their heads, loomed a project that Giovanni wanted a piece of. Apparently, it had something to do with a legend and Supernormal division.

Fuck, _this_ was the kid's endgame- play good cop with the International Police agent, get him to spill on a project so Team Rocket could stick their fingers in it.  When the agent turns out to have nothing of value, leave him to die. Then, everyone evacuates the base to obfuscate the evidence. The kid wasn't a grunt (not outwardly), so he'd have the best chance of warming up to their grumpy hostage (even if said hostage didn't discover his glaring soft spot for hopeless cases in the process).

000 shook the thought out of his head.  The kid wouldn't have come to him beaten to a pulp, if that had been his master plan.   He had no reason to make 000 a fucking thank you sandwich or leave him crap pulp fiction.  He had no poker face. The chief of Organized Crime might make a few bad decisions here and there, but his intuition was _good._

Disregarding, of course, the whole part where Giovanni duped him for three months.  Giovanni's intuition was just a soche better. Or, alternatively, 000 was a dumbass whenever liquor and sex were part of the equation.

He liked neither of those possibilities and chose to ignore that side of the argument.  He'd been caught on the high on almost bagging his target and got sloppy, that was the long and short of it.  The chief of Organized Crime wouldn't make that mistake again.

Still, 000 would have noticed something amiss with the kid, at least while he bled all over his own shirt and couldn't even tell 000 how it'd happened.  Besides, he’d never asked anything about the International Police beyond how his favorite hostage joined up. It was something going on above both their heads, and that was that.  It didn't float across his radar. He seemed more interested in Alola if anything about 000 piqued his interest.

"I can't save your ass with nothing, Nanu," the director bemoaned, leaning back into her chair and pinching the bridge of her nose a second time, "The only other option is we've had a massive data breach."

"Sounds like we've had a massive data breach," 000 pointed out, fiddling with the bandage over the IV needle.  This was _bullshit._   His track record meant nothing to the brass, they refused to see anything but the hard fact he'd been the one to get fucked over it.  "This doesn't sound like my problem."

"It is, because you are our _only_ lead," she emphasized, her voice picking up a few decibels, "But no one can figure out how you'd know about the project!"

"Because I _don't_ _!_ " 000 matched her, "I don't even learn the shit for my own projects, why would I waste my time with someone else's?!  But while we're all sitting here, I _do_ know where Giovanni is and I do know how we can bag him, so I don't know why _this_ is what's holding us all up!  But just in case it didn't fucking occur to you, I wouldn't be telling you he was the Viridian gym leader if I planned on selling us out to him!"

The two stared at each other, 000's heart racing.  He blinked a few times, trying to read her expression.  Like every member of the brass, the director of Field Ops learned to wipe it to a neutral.

"I agree," she responded point blank, "It's getting the rest of the brass to believe me that is the issue."

"They can't seriously-"

"Nanu, it's not every day the boss of a major criminal organization offers to trade us our best agent for information on a project he shouldn't know about," 000 had to smile some at 'best'; they couldn't even refute it as they fired him, "And it's not every day the agent up for sale has a _faux pas_ involving _dating_ that very same boss on his record.  If you know _anything_ about how he could have found out, I need to know.  The evidence we have right now points to _you_ , and since Giovanni's gone radio silent, _I_ don't have a better way of getting to the bottom of this.  Like I said, I can't save your ass with _nothing_."

Well, 000 could tell her about the kid.  He could tell her the kid mentioned something going on above their heads.  He could tell her the kid was in a shit situation with his boyfriend, he could tell her that he sucked at staying away from cameras, he could tell her that they could pick him up, send him through a few rounds of therapy, and then use him to weasel the answer out of Giovanni.  The kid would go for it once someone convinced him he didn't deserve to take Team Rocket's bullshit in the face.

Except, 000 couldn't.  The kid was in over his head already.  He didn't need the International Police shoving him further underwater.

The chief of Organized Crime took a deep breath, counted to ten once in his head (Alolan), and shook his head.  "I've got nothing."

The director matched his calming breathing, "Then we'll work with nothing, I suppose."

"I- what?" 000 hadn't truly expected his tirade to mean anything.  They never did, even if he liked to believe otherwise. Besides, the fact that his last failed mission left him stranded on the thinnest ice in the pond didn't elude him (even if that had also been bullshit).

"One of these days, I'll stick my neck out for you and they'll cut both our heads off, I hope you realize this," the director accused him, "You make a good point.  You wouldn't know about the Mew project nor would Giovanni have made you the bargaining chip if you went double agent."

000 scowled.  No wonder the brass offered him a promotion into their inner echelon three times.  None of them had the brain cells to put two and two together, let alone see the glaringly obvious fact that 000 did not tell Giovanni about some secret Supernormal project.  "Damn right, I'd have had him pick up one of the dumbass field agents instead. Hell, 702 can't even go into the field alone lest he wind up fucking kidnapped."

The last time 702 had been kidnapped, it wasn't even by anyone of note.  Some thugs in Oreburgh got pissed about a bounced check on a hotel bill and kept him as collateral until 000 could sort the fiasco out.  That had been the International Police's fault for prematurely closing an expense account on them, but the poor bastard still wound up losing hostage roulette.

The director rolled her eyes, "If they hold a hearing for you, I'd avoid saying that."

"They won't have a hearing, they're too lazy for that."

At some point on his suspension, 000 had gotten a 'save the date' call about the hearing he should have had for the Giovanni mission.  The meeting never came to fruition, likely because the brass didn't give that much of a fuck.

"The point stands, I'm losing all credibility by defending you, and I hope you realize that," she pointed her finger at him.

"Yeah, yeah, you'd lose the only functional division in Field Ops if I'm gone, and you know it.  You want me to take you out to dinner or something for it?"

"Actually, _in return_ ," the Director leaned in, giving him a deathly stare he had to match, lest she believe him unserious, "You _will_ follow orders from here forward, Nanu.  No more 'personal' missions. No more refusing promotions.  No more _nonsense_.  You behave, or the details of your little outing will be revealed to the brass and you will be relieved from duty on the spot.  What happens afterwards will be up to the rest of them."

000 almost told her to go shove her deal up her ass, before he caught himself (the heart rate beeping betraying him yet again).  He didn't have a leg to stand on. The International Police had a data breach. It wasn't even a question of lose the job or play along.  He could wind up rotting in a prison cell until his mouth killed him (000 held no delusions about how prison would go… he got his ass beat enough at the bar, where a punch to the face carried an assault charge).

"Fine," he agreed, breaking eye contact and balling his fists in the sheets, "I'll behave.  But I'm not joining the brass."

"Oh trust me, that ship sailed when you decided fucking Giovanni was a good idea," her words came with a huff; she'd wanted him in upper management for years, "I'll have legal draft an agreement for you to sign."

The chirping increased a second time.  The cardiologist was about to have the time of his life deciphering these charts.  "What the _fuck?_  You mean I’m officially enslaved to the International Police?"

"I can't afford any more nonsense out of you, agent," she grumbled, "Arceus knows, you've taken three years off my life."

"You said that on my first six months in when I jumped from that rafter in Pokemon Tower," 000 reminded her with a snide grin.  She'd been the chief of Field Operations back then, and they were chasing down an admin that had holed up in the tower. 000 found a shortcut (and a surprising distaste for heights) across a fire fight on the fourth floor, as well as a shortcut to directly on top of the admin in question.

For his ingenuity, Agent 000 earned himself a .22 caliber in the side and the fun knowledge of how shitty the International Police's workman's comp program was.

That earned him another eye roll, "So you've taken six then.  Do we have an agreement here or not, Nanu?"

"Yeah, whatever," 000 grumbled.  The International Police ruled his life anyway.  He didn't have any semblance of one without them, it wasn't necessarily _unwanted_.  "I'm not the fucking mole, though."

Bulu knew, once they put Giovanni to bed, he'd hunt down whoever _was_ selling secrets to the bastard.  And _that_ one was a promise 000 could swear to the deity.

"Good," the director leaned back in her chair, a grin on her face, "As far as the rest of the brass knows, you went to Viridian to pay off an informant on your previous mission under my orders.  I suggest you think up an informant. Some Rocket grunts recognized you from your last pisspoor mission, beat the hell out of you, and picked you up."

"Doesn't explain the dead base they found me in."

"As far as we can tell, they deserted the warehouse to not be caught red-handed with the field chief when their negotiation attempt went nowhere.  The timing checks out to when we pinpointed your location."

000 scowled as his heart rate monitor beeped.  He had half a mind to unplug the damn thing. "And you waited six fucking days to pick me up?"

"Eight.  Giovanni didn't go radio silent for a few more," her voice remained casual, "We couldn't risk losing the ability to track the breach by picking you up."

"Thanks for that, I almost starved to death," he pointed at the medical charts posted at the edge of his bed.

"You almost dehydrated," the director corrected with the same tone.

000 rolled his eyes, "Yeah, that's much better."

"You lived," she pointed out, "Which was more than anyone expected of you."

"I try to exceed expectations."

"Yes, we'll file this one in that category," the director shook her head, "How far _did_ you get with your half-assed plan, out of curiosity?"

"Well, I met the kid, that was about it," 000 admitted, though he thought better of it as the words escaped his mouth, "For about ten seconds.  Heard he got his ass dumped not long after and disappeared."

The kid didn't deserve to be dragged into this.  He didn't deserve to stay with Giovanni either, but at least as long as he was under the crime boss's wing he wouldn't go to jail.  After… after that 000 would think of something. He could handle the kid's interrogations, teach him to lie a little. If the kid could sing like a canary, the International Police (at their Org Crime chief's heavy handed recommendation) could offer him a plea deal involving a few years at a tennis prison.

He'd think of something later.  000 needed to save himself first.  He couldn't keep the kid out of jail if he landed his ass in it, and despite the director's words and her influence on the rest of her colleagues, the chief knew this battle would be uphill.

He'd be looking at a pay cut.  Thank Bulu his pokemon ate rocks (and asphalt, and concrete…).  Granted, 000 still didn't have a damn clue where Sableye _was_.  At this point, he could only make another prayer to the god of laziness and petty revenge that the damn thing was home tearing up the curtains.

"Well, I suppose you'll find true love in your next target."

"Hilarious."

The director stood from her chair, "In any case, I'll send a team tomorrow to work out the details of your reinstatement as field chief of Organized Crime, pending the corroboration of Giovanni's status as the Viridian City gym leader and our _other_ mutual agreement.  Intel sent a team there already, it shouldn't be long before it's validated.  We'll talk more at the office next week."

"You gonna break it to Field Ops that I'm coming back and they need to keep their mouths shut?"  The clown rodeo would be so disappointed. Knowing 221, he stood to lose a lot of money on 000's return.  Keeping his job the first time cost him somewhere in the realm of p2500.

"I'll let you handle it," she informed him, "You're on what, pudding now?  You should be able to return to the office in a day or two. Besides, I'll be tied up for the foreseeable future."

"Where are you gonna be?"

She grinned, "I need to go arrest the field chief of Supernormal, since he's our other only suspect in this fiasco."

000 waited with painful patience until the director strode out of the hospital room and had likely made it out of earshot down the hallway.  The International Police agent counted to ten in Alolan, then in Kanton Standard, then Johtan. Even then, he drew the pillow to his mouth before screaming the loudest _"FUCK"_ he could muster on two weeks of dehydration recovery and mushy food.

He couldn't hold the kid in any actual contempt.  Some days, 000 himself wasn't sure if the International Police was any better than Team Rocket.  Likely, not.

-

Intel, OpSec, and Legal showed up the next morning to hammer out the final details and confirm 000 didn't know anything about a secret project they refused to ask him about.  The nurses discharged him shortly afterward the room cleared out, tired of the powwows. He was home for a solid day, smoking through two packs of cigarettes and bemoaning Sableye's failure to resurface.  Sableye always came back, it was the beauty of it… the lack of return scared the piss out of him but he could hardly hobble up the stairs let alone back to Viridian for a search. A 23:00 phonecall confirmed that yes, Giovanni was head of the Viridian City gym and yes, they had the warrants in place, and yes, 000 could keep his job for this one provided he got his ass down to the office to ship out.  Less than twelve hours later, 000 found himself standing (well, _leaning, swaying, and bracing himself on agents in training_ ) in the empty Viridian City gym.

Someone gave the fucker the heads up.  Giovanni was long gone, with Team Rocket in shambles.  The goons leftover to defend the place proved as clueless as the IP.  A search of his apartment turned up about the same. No trace of the bastard himself remained, just all of his shit. He'd vanished into thin air and left the International Police to clean up his criminal empire.

000 grabbed a bottle of gin from the liquor cabinet and brought it with him to the park across the street for a much-needed smoke break.  The fucker. After everything the chief of Organized Crime division went through, after twenty fucking years closing in on him, after almost losing his job _twice_ , almost dying (...more than twice, but twice _lately_ ), and the bastard vanished into thin air.  000 was back where he'd started: no leads, no clues, just a name that may or may not have been accurate.

"Fuck him," 000 thought aloud as he plopped onto a bench and took a swig straight from the bottle, "fuck him to hell, and not in a way he'd enjoy."

"Ah, erm, Mr. Zero," a familiar voice announced himself.

000 jerked up and almost jumped out of his skin.  The kid stood in front of him, his goofy oversized dress shirt obscured by a trenchcoat two sizes too big for him.  He started down at 000 through what appeared to be his one functioning eye. The other had swollen with a greening black and blue.  He failed to control how much his hand shook when as he outstretched it to offer an ultraball in the other man's general direction.

"The fuck?!"

Through some grace of the Tapu, the camera feed agreed with his tall tale (grace of the Tapu and the kid's ability to take 000's advice).  The OpSec reports implied the kid had fallen out of the picture. He _should_ have been disappeared with Giovanni, which while not better, meant no arrests.

He took a nervous step backwards.  "Ack, sorry… I did not mean to be startling you, I am promising," he fumbled his words, "I… I am very pleased to see that you still live."

The cigarette fell to the ground with 000's dumbfounded gape.  "Yeah… me too."

"This… this is yours," he babbled, "I was of meaning to returning it, but I do not have knowledge of your residence… or anything else about you."

Sableye.  He'd had Sableye this entire time.  No wonder it wasn't sitting on the couch eating asphalt that morning… the previous morning… whenever the hell 000 was last in Saffron.  Time blended together since leaving the hospital.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!"  000 proclaimed, his brain catching up to speed on the situation, "Why didn't you go with him?!"

"I- I did not want to," he admitted, his voice shaking and his eye contact diverting, "I… declined at the last second."

"...Must have been one hell of a last second." The black eye was no doubt the result of that discussion.  000 didn't need to ask. "Fuck, don't tell me you've been staying in that apartment, we have it on lockdown right now.  Fuck."

He shook his head, picking at the cuticle on his thumb.  "I found alternative lodging immediately."

"But still in Viridian I'm guessing."  He couldn't keep his head down long enough in Viridian.  Odds were the IP had holed up in the same cheap motel, and with all the forward plans piling up, would open a temp office within the week.  It was a wonder no starry-eyed ambitious newbie agent recognized him from the files and picked him off already.

"Where else could I go?" he whimpered, on the verge of tears.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. _Shit._

For a split second, 000's brain ordered the sensible thing- cuff the kid, haul him in, interrogate him on what he knew of Giovanni's last whereabouts.  Get the leads he needed to keep his career out of the toilet. Book the kid on the crimes he'd actually committed and use those as leverage for testimonial against the rest of the Rocket goons they'd bag in the coming months.

The sensible thing evaporated the second it appeared.  "Fucking hell," 000 dug in his pocket for his wallet, pulling out an old business card ( _"Thibadeaux Copying, Framing, and Frying- Get a snack while you wait on your photos to process!"_ \- not one of their better covers, but a procurement error resulted in nothing but some dark room equipment and a deep fryer), "Pen, do you have a fucking pen?"

The Tapu knew, 000 could never find a fucking pen when one was needed.  Once and a while, he had a highlighter, sometimes a really damp stick that could almost substitute, but never a Tapu-damned pen.  With how cheap the International Police could be over petty minutia, they rarely provided them to the agents. 000 would never ask considering how staples needed approval from Arceus himself.

The kid pulled a cheap ballpoint from a motel (the same motel the IP stayed in, the kid had nine damned lives it seemed) from an interior coat pocket. 000 scrawled on the back of the card, praying his handwriting was just legible enough for the purpose.  He finished it off by pulling all the cash out of his wallet and digging for his keyring.

"Here.  This is my address in Saffron," he handed the card and the money to the kid in order to struggle his house key off the ring, "Take the next train there and keep your head down.  Don't use any of your cards, we're tracking them all. There's some shit in the freezer and the drawer next to the silverware one has got a bunch of takeout menus. Just, stay the fuck there and don't leave until I get back, for the love of the Tapu."

The kid looked at him, his eyes blanked of any emotion.  000 knew that stare- too uncomfortable to act, but too drained and confused to protest it. The kid's visits weren't an act to garnish information out of him.  This interaction sure as shit wasn't either. No man alive could fake the tired, desperate stare of 'out of options'.

"I'ma get you out of this mess, but I can't do shit about it now.  And I won't be able to at all if you get busted," the chief told him, "I'll be back in a couple days, we'll figure it the fuck out then.  Please."

"I cannot ask this-"

"You're not asking me, I'm telling you.  You don't have a fucking choice, kid," 000 cut him off, "Just go, I'll argue it with you later."

The kid stared at the key, still frozen.  "Why are you doing this?"

"Somebody has to," 000 shot, not questioning his own words even if he knew he should, "Now get the hell out of here, we have files on you for days."

The kid nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  He opened his mouth, as if to ask a question (or protest this decision), but ultimately turned and made haste out of the part.  000 took another shot as he watched him go.

"I'm gonna live to regret this one," 000 muttered to himself before taking his last shot and hauling his ass back to work.  He said a quick prayer to Bulu on the way that he didn't regret it before he made it home to have a heart-to-heart with the kid.

-

The kid was curled up on the couch with his croagunk when 000 dragged himself in, three days later, long after midnight.  The field chief half expected the room to be ransacked when he got home, the kid long absconded after fruitlessly trying to find some evidence of a secret project and instead noticing 000 took no work home (half-living at the office proved far more convenient; the chief would sleep there if Sableye wasn't prone to chewing on the moldings).

000 shook the thought out of his head, once and for all.  The kid wasn't some act intended to get the field chief to spill on some project he knew nothing about.  The kid was a dumbass teenager that wound up in over his head, and 000 needed to pull him up to breathe.

He had nothing to save his ass with, though.  The kid had a pile of criminal charges that rose steadily higher with every second the International Police didn't pick him up. The sole saving grace was sheer fact that the field chief of Organized Crime's sofa was the last place on the planet they'd look for him (if they even did; their infrastructure quaked enough with the mountain of arrests made in Viridian alone, and it would get worse as the criminal organization crumbled apart).  Even so, 000 couldn't harbor him indefinitely for practical reasons: the apartment was too small (...a studio, which was about to get awkward), the paycheck too low, 000's capacity to fix problems too poor. He needed to send the kid on his way to… anywhere.

Except, 000 didn't have a single fucking clue as to where.  He couldn't throw him out now and tell him to fuck off to somewhere else.  He certainly couldn't send him home to Kalos.

000 would come up with some way to save his ass in the morning, he decided as he kicked his shoes off and fell into the bed on the other side of the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Ron for covering a last second "hey can you make sure the grammar in this doesn't suck" (spoiler alert, it did... sorry Ron, and double sorry I ignored some of it). I had a busy week and busy lastweekend and busy week before that (etc etc etc) and my attention is literally everywhere else right now, but next weekend should be a fucking well needed return to hermitage.
> 
> Anyway, I strongly headcannon that by the time you get the Earth Badge Giovanni has bigger problems and that's a lot of why he disappears.


	5. Keeping House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu gets a hostage (on accident).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Poor handling of the aftermath of an abusive relationship. Critical misunderstandings. Nightmares. Broken glass. Corrupt cops. Drinking, smoking, swearing, themes.

****A week later and 000 had nothing.  The office was too much of a shitshow to think.  Admins turned themselves in left and right, desperate to stay ahead of the flood of arrests.  The flood of arrests was a clusterfuck on its own, because without guidance the goons became easy to catch and the IP didn't have the infrastructure for that level of success.  Local police stood around baffled, most of them being on the payroll and now unsure of how to fund a new set of cruisers.

000 cared about none of it.  Partly because none of it included the main man himself, and mostly because of the kid biding his time at the apartment.  For once, the chief needed to stay at the office past six and couldn't bring himself to.

The kid was at least good company.  He had a sense of humor, or at least laughed at 000's sarcastic recreation of the day's bullshit meetings (he especially liked the impression of a Sinnoh-area police sergeant trying to pawn off a dozen or so grunts back on the IP, though his interpretation of the accent proved better).  His face lit up whenever 000 did anything remotely kind for him, from bringing home a pizza to helping him sweep up whatever mess his croagunk managed to make.

As far as 000 could tell, he spent the day keeping house.  The first day back from the office and the IP agent found him on his hands and knees in the bathroom, trying to scrub out the tub.  This was something of a fruitless endeavor, since 000 last cleaned in… never. He planned to change apartments when the overgrowth lost control.  By the end of the first week, though, the place morphed to a state similar to when 000 first moved in, maybe a bit cleaner. Dinner was never palatable but the kid never cooked before.  The attempts stood as more of a learning experience and, more often than not, they ended in pizza or cereal.

000 wasn't stupid enough to think the arrangement would last.  The patient housekeeping lasted about a week. Even then the kid tried to be polite about the issue, despite the clear discomfort with his new living arrangement.  He also misunderstood the situation entirely, much to 000's mortification.

"...What is it that you are wanting of me, exactly?" he asked out of the blue as 000 dug up some plates for their evening pizza and beer.  The eggs had burned right around the time the chief dragged himself in, same as most nights.

"Hm?" 000 had _wanted_ the kid to get the plates.  In the mad boredom cleaning of the apartment, he'd put them all on a shelf the much shorter man couldn't reach without climbing on the counter.  While the cleanup was appreciated, there was something degrading associated with climbing on the counter for his own belongings.

"With the staying here. I was presuming that at some point in the near future I will be subject to the arrest of your career, and if that is to be the case, in advance I would… rather know."

The plate from 000's hand shattered on the cheap linoleum floor.  "No!"

The kid backpedaled his words, but he didn't move despite the glass breaking.  "I assure you, I will not attempt to be resisting. I would just like to be aware of the scenario so alternative arrangements can be prepared for Croagunk.  He… he has not been away from me ever, I am not certain of how to handle him in those regards."

"No, I mean I'm not arresting you, kid," 000 responded, his stomach tying itself in a knot.  They should have talked about this the first night back. This kid's puttering about had been a distraction from what he had assumed would be an imminent twenty-five-to-life sentencing.  And while that was what 000 _should_ have done, he wouldn't be a disgusting example of humanity.  He would help the kid out of this mess and send him on his way to a better future.  Things at the office just needed to calm down first.

"Then why have you allowed me to be staying here?  Is there something sexual you are requesting, because that would be nice to know outright as well."

" _No!_ " 000 shot after his brain processed that logic train, feeling himself go red through his ears, "Sweet Tapu Bulu, no!"

"Well… er, good," the kid was red himself, trying not to make eye contact after that misunderstanding.  "... It is perhaps more reasonable to hire a cleaning person than to enlist my services full time."

000's face went redder, which he didn't believe possible until that moment.  

"Yeah, okay, noted, this place was a dump.  You didn't need to clean up after me though," he sighed.  He'd put off a real conversation for too long. The kid didn't put 000's wild (and easily misunderstood, in retrospect) orders together with the ongoing investigation and his usual lack of good intentions.  "I get it, we need to talk and figure this all out. You're still in our files, that's the only reason I'm asking you to stay here, okay?"

The kid fidgeted, shoving his hands into his slacks to hide it.  "I am understanding."

"I was trying to come up with some kind of plan for you. Work's been shit and I can't focus on much else.  Sorry, would have said something if I realized you were panicking," he tried to apologize. He knew it shouldn't amount to much.  000 didn't have much right to be trusted, not by Giovanni's former boytoy in any case. Sitting on the alleged right side of the law didn't mean this kid was obligated to feel good about sticking around.  "Lemme just clean this up, we'll talk. Promise."

The right side of the law was a joke anyway. 000 signed his life away to it to save his skin.

"Here," the kid awkwardly held out his arms, "You are barefoot, you'll hurt yourself."

000 took a deep breath and let the kid pick him up off the counter to deposit him a safe distance from the broken glass.  He muttered a thanks before grabbing his sandals and digging for the broom, beer in hand. The other man got the dustpan, and between the two of them they scolded the pokemon into avoiding the kitchen area until 000 could scrounge a vacuum from the old woman across the hall.

The pizza had gone cold by the time they sat down to it, which neither minded.  The kid drank his beer before he touched his slice anyway, looking more exhausted than if he'd just outrun a bewear.  He must have been a ball of adrenaline over the last couple days. 000 had half a mind to put the conversation off until the morning, except that this was all long overdue in the first fucking place.

"I know you can't stay here, and I know this arrangement pretty much sucks ass," 000 started,  "I'm sorry it's shitty."

"...How much of information about me have they compiled?" the kid almost whispered, picking at the wrapper on the beer bottle instead of eating.

"We've got your whole history, kid.  Plane tickets, school records, family, hell, every time you used your credit card since you came to Kanto.  Got a bunch of grainy shots from the security cams, enough that we could pick you out of a lineup," 000 admitted.

The kid winced, picking a pepperoni off his pizza but otherwise not touching it.  He didn't need the gravity spelled out for him, he wore his understanding in the sink of his frown.  "I suppose that was to be the expectation."

"I told them you and Giovanni broke it off a couple days after I got bagged.  From what I can tell, you did a good enough job at keeping out of sight to make that true enough," 000 credited, taking a bite of cold pepperoni pizza and continuing with his mouth full of food, "but it doesn't take you off the list of interesting persons given the stunning amount of arrests we're making right now."

"I see," he took a bite of pizza, though uncharacteristically small.  000 knew he liked pepperoni. Granted, he seemed to like any and all food, which between that and the cleaning made him a decent houseguest.  Croagunk could have belched acid on the sofa for all 000 cared in that light.

That was probably because he assumed 000 intended to either arrest him or fuck him, in retrospect.  He'd go to the fucking grocery store so they could stop eating sugar pops for dinner, at least. The kid deserved that much.

"I can get the files destroyed, maybe.  There's a lot of chaos right now. If they disappeared I don't think anybody would notice-"

"I cannot ask that of you," he cut in.

"You're not asking me.  I'm gonna try anyway. That doesn't make me any less nervous about you being out in the wild," he tried to collect his thoughts on the actual fear, "... but until I get rid of those files and grab you a new identity though, you can't really do too much."

"Identity?"

"Yeah, birth certificate, passport, history, whatever.  We build files like that all the time to use as covers," 000 explained, taking another swig of beer, "I'll go run by intelligence and grab one, they're pretty damn bad about keeping track of 'em."

"You mean I could be a whole new person?" his eyes lit up, the first sign of genuine happiness 000 had seen on his face since… ever.  Maybe that glimpse in the hallway on the disastrous night they met, but in retrospect 000 had no idea what that particular smile had been about (likely coming into contact with a person who wasn't his sociopath of a now-ex).

The IP agent smirked, "Hate home that much, huh?"

"What home?" the kid mused, "My father doesn't care if I exist or not, and my stepmother would prefer I did not.  ...They could not question if I disappeared."

000 was no good with empathy.  He didn't know how to hell to respond to this one.  Nobody in Alola cared that he disappeared either, but back in Alola he was another mouth to feed (and a mouth that scared off tourists and started fights with other trial captains).  "That's fortunate I guess, then," he responded lamely.

"...I suppose acquiring any money I had to repay you is out of the question."

"Absolutely.  Live through this mess and we'll call it even, how's that work for you?"  000 suggested, his conscience in full gear, "And… think of some things you can do, you're gonna need a job at some point or another."

"...Ack, obviously," he scowled at 000, "I did not intended to be freeloading from you for eternity."

000 took another swig of his beer, "I dunno, before this you were a mob boss's boytoy and you offered me payment in sex.   Considering you were a rich kid-"

The kid snorted, not taking the joke as lightly as 000 assumed he would.  "I am not intending to be lazy, I realize I need to contribute to the betterment of society."

"...Something like that, yeah," 000 responded, not sure if he could really count his own career with the International Police as such.  Society would be better without Team Rocket… but society could probably be better without the International Police too. "Give it some thought, I'll scrape together some fake credentials to get you into whatever you want to do."

"That seems somewhat dishonest, no?" the kid pointed out, pulling his croagunk into his lap so the pokemon could get a bite of pizza (he got fed a lot of people food, 000 noticed… he'd wind up saying something about the bad habit eventually).  "I should not try to leverage into a position I am unqualified for."

The other man stared at him as if he sprouted a croagunk head, "Kid, with your actual credentials, you're more or less qualified to flip burgers."

"Or translate.  I am good with languages."

"Yeah, I guess that's a point there," 000 muttered.  'Good' was relative. He could speak a few and his translations might have been good enough for Team Rocket's standards, but anything formal… maybe not.  "Well, think about it. I won't grab you anything too extravagant."

"I could work for the International Police," he laughed, "I am already knowledgeable about your activities, it would be less training."

000 laughed. "You don't want to, trust me.  Besides, they'd give you a real background check."

000 could offer to take over said background check, thus eliminating any chance of the kid's secret being discovered.  And the kid had a fucking good point, he'd know how to bag the last few admins that would inevitably hold out from arrest.  Plus, he was pretty sharp all things considered, sharper than most of the numbskulls in 000's clown rodeo.

000 shook the idea out of his head. His coworkers over on the surveillance side would recognize him.  Someone from Opsec would notice that his credentials matched a cover identity. He'd move to a division where 000 couldn't keep a good enough eye on the situation.

Besides, that would be out of a frying pan and straight into the fire.

-

The kid got nightmares. 000 wasn't sure why he didn't expect this.

The first week of no more Team Rocket, the chief could have slept through a hurricane.  The second week came a little easier, or would have without the kid waking up (or not sleeping in the first place).  Most nights, it was the reading light and some pulp 000 picked up for him at the grocery store on the way home, until long after 000 passed out in a pile of drool.  When the kid slept, he thrashed, which both startled Croagunk and Sableye and shook the hell out of 000's bed (the back of the couch served as the headboard…. which worked up until someone moved onto the couch just like 000 never expected).

After two days Croagunk started sleeping in the bed, with 000 unable to coax him back to his trainer. He didn't mind (it didn't have poison touch), but the kid needed some modicum of security blanket.  This was sort of unfair to him. Granted, the coaxing attempt sent the kid into a panic fit over the potential that 000 had a problem with Croagunk. At the end of the day, it was less stressful to leave the pokemon be.

It still worsened the waking up problem, the not sleeping problem, and any of the other psychological problems the kid might have.  000 had no idea how to handle those. He probably need actual medical help, which the IP agent could neither provide or afford.

The kid was screwed, not just in a legal sense.

"...you want a smoke?" 000 asked after his roommate had jolted himself awake for the second time that night.

"Ack!  Sorry! Sorry!" he panicked, "I did not mean to wake you!"

"It's fine," Actually, the wakeups aggravating as all hell and resulted in four extra cups of coffee to function at the office, but he tried to ignore that.  They _both_ needed to calm down, so he practically dragged the kid out of bed by his shirt collar.  "C'mon, let's go smoke."

The kid silently obliged.

"You want to talk about it?" 000 asked after they both got a few drags in and watched the smoke curl down the alley below in the humidity.

"...It was just a nightmare," he said after a moment of pause.

"You've been having a lot of 'em," 000 replied, "I'm getting worried, that's all."

"It is nothing to worry over."

"...Kid, everything about you is worth worrying over," the other man admitted, "The situation you're in now isn't great, the one you just got yourself out of was so awful I can't relate to it, and three days ago you were convinced I was going to keep you around as a sex slave or something.  I don't feel good coming home to you making dinner and smiling, not when I can't come up with any other damned way to help you."

He took a deep drag before he spoke, "I know you are trying.  As long as you are trying to provide help, I will try to stay positive.  It is the least I can do."

"You don't fucking have to.  The Tapu knows my help isn't effective.  If you want to talk, I'll listen. I can't give you a lick of advice and I have no idea how to make this shit better, but I'll hear you out."

The kid stayed quiet for a moment, breathing in the cooling air.  "I did not expect to feel guilty," he said, point blank.

"That makes enough sense to me," 000 empathized.  Hell, even he started to feel guilty about the mass amount of arrests.  The admins were a nasty lot through and through, but most of the grunts hauled in were the kid's age- dumbasses looking for a better life.  They didn't deserve the hard time they'd be sentenced with. "Lotta folks going to jail now."

"Team Rocket was their lives… it is over on my account," the kid hung his head, watching the cigarette smoke billow.

"Well, it's my doing.  I did kind of use the information you gave me," 000 pointed out, "I coulda sat on it."

He shook his head.  "It would have been irresponsible on your part.  Stopping Team Rocket was your job, you deserve some semblance of professional pride."

"Uh… yeah, I guess.  I dunno. We would have stopped them eventually."  He'd sold the kid's words to keep his job, and he didn't think twice about it.  000 would sit on that fun fact until he could set him up elsewhere. Maybe he would sit on it forever.  It didn't do him a damn lick of good at the end. The Director just wanted the Org Crime field chief to behave like the trained mankeys the rest of his compatriots were.  In that respect, outing Giovanni was a nice bonus and not much else.

"Perhaps so.  Perhaps not. None of this would have happened if my words did not slip."

None of this would have happened if Giovanni hadn't kept the kid trapped in the facade of a relationship with him.  000 held that thought to himself. He held in another iteration of 'we would have figured it out eventually' too, mostly because it was bullshit and mostly because it wasn't actually making the kid feel any better.

"I realize that their behaviors are perhaps unsavory and very much against the law… I just… wish it had not been me," 000 glanced over as he squatted against the ground, running a hand through his hair, "Everyone would joke this would be what would happen and then Giovanni would grow angry with them so they would grow angry with me-"

"So he pitted his guys up against you?  Real cute," 000 couldn't hold that one back, "Sorry, promised I'd let you talk."

The kid chuckled, "I suppose it is okay.  Your commentary is usually insightful."

"That's a terrifying thought."

"I do not understand why you insist on the self-depreciation.  I find you considerably admirable."

"...I have my own issues, I guess. It's not important."  Not at the moment, and not ever.

"...why did you want to help me?  It is my fault for both the situations you found yourself in."

"...you didn't deserve this, kid," 000 sighed, "Whatever relationship you had with Giovanni was fucked, your involvement with Team Rocket was fucked… you seem like too nice a kid."

"You do not know that."

"Nah, I kinda do.  ...just, this isn't better, I guess."

The kid was quiet for a solid minute, taking another cigarette out of the pack and lighting it.  "It is better. It is guilting and it hurts somewhat, but this is better."

"...you don't have to lie."

"Non.  You are person who is trustworthy.  It is better to be on the good side of the law, it is better to… not date evil people," he recited, before adding,"I do not understand why it feels unpleasant.  It should feel like I have made the correct decision."

000 shrugged, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the alley, "It's not magically fixed."

The kid stewed on this thought for a minute.  "...I suppose not. I wish I did not miss him."

"That might last longer than you want it to," he cautioned.  Those kind of things happened back on Alola. He'd watched a dozen folks run back to their psychotic significant others, over and over.  "I dunno what to tell you there, I don't like other people enough to empathize."

The kid laughed at that, his good attitude prevailing.  Maybe it was natural reaction. "You do not, do you? Your apartment was in no state for any kind of social call."

'Social call'... 000 hadn't had anyone over since he moved into the place.  No coworkers, no one nighters, nobody. The kid was the first guest. He hadn't needed to clean it.  "Rub it in, why don't you? I got a busy job, no time."

"Your toilet was green."

He could have made the place _habitable_ for himself though, yeah. "...Once again, busy job."

The kid chuckled, before letting his nerves show through again, "...I still need to consider what I will do for a job.  If I find one busy enough, it will keep thoughts out of my head."

"One day at a time, kid.  We're doing this one day at a time," he told him, "Don't feel like you have good days on my account."

"...I cannot take advantage of your kindness forever."

"You won't, and I'm more worried about you prematurely getting back on your feet," 000 admitted, "Have some bad days if you need them.  Tapu knows, it's only been a damn week. You don't have to try the whole damn time."

A week and a steadily declining bank account, but 000 had been poor before and he could be poor now.

The kid stood and threw his cigarette butt over the railing, "Could you promise you would at least tell me if I was being a bother?"

000 wanted to protest, before he came to the poignant conclusion the kid might be afraid of 000 beating him.  He did just sort of live through a man with no temper control. He was fishing for warnings, not being polite.  "I promise, if you promise you'll wake me up when you have nightmares."

"...it will be frequent."

000 ushered him back inside, "I'll live."

He got woken up already. No need to let the kid suffer in silence.

-

The kid took his advice about bad days to heart.  The next evening, 000 escaped the office to find him curled up in the corner of the couch with his book.  He hadn't tried to scramble eggs or fold the laundry. The agent threw a freezer pizza in the oven, they watched some crap TV, and the kid woke up him around 3:30 with a hellish nightmare about Giovanni being ripped apart by a tangela.  It turned into a discussion until dawn about prophetic dreams, a concept 000 considered less bunk than the kid to both their surprises.

He blamed Alola for that.  The residual culture always persuaded him to consider the mystical.  The kid found this fascinating and spent most of the time asking, from the dark on the other side of the couch, about 000's home culture instead of anything meaningful.

One day at a time.

-

"They're fucking moving me," 000 slurred over another shot of bourbon, bracing himself on the bar.

"Ah yes you have said a few times," the kid responded, his eyes darting nervously around the bar.  He hadn't been out in public in the last three weeks. The immersion into a bar already full of drunks startled him, though 000 had stopped noticing three shots in.

This excursion had been intended as celebration, since 000 managed to delete every piece of photographic evidence of the kid in the International Police's databases.  It turned out easy. The clowns running surveillance forgot to back anything up, so the sole copies were on the hard drives in their corner of the fourth floor. As a bonus, 221 left himself logged into the system after clocking out at noon to fuck off (officially he had a doctor's appointment, unofficially 'Team Rocket's gone, the fuck do we need me for right now' and 'Boss you know I'm just waiting for a transfer to another team right' and finally 'I have a 2pm tee time if you let me leave you can join').  000 wiped everything before the rest of the team dragged back in from an extended lunch.

He was so stunned at the ease of the whole operation that he called home and told the kid to have his Sunday's best ready for a night on the town.  They were going to celebrate. Then the Director waltzed into his office and told him he'd be taking over the disaster that was Supernormal Phenomenon division, please sign the transfer letter or _else_.

On one hand, it was an honest relief to know he'd not been caught for his earlier intrusion.  On the other hand (plus both feet, Sableye's hands, and the kid's), he would not be reporting to Supernormal come hell or high water.

"They can't move me," he repeated.

Except that they could, because the new terms of his employment specifically stated he would stop fighting promotions, transfers, and all other assignments. Supernormal had an opening, since while the field chief there might not have ratted a top secret project out to Giovanni, he kept his computer password on a postit note stuck to the monitor.  The International Police still had a mole, and one former chief didn't get arrested, just canned and threatened.

000 had no intention of filling his position.

"You have said this as well," the kid noted, looking somewhere beyond 000's shoulder.  For the former boytoy of crime baron, the kid was _jumpy_ about patronizing a bar that didn't card.  This place sucked, but given 000 hadn't stolen a fake ID yet, options ran limited.

"I've been doing this job for…. forever.  They can't just _transfer_ me.  There'll be other organized crime.  We gotta clean up the rest of this shit," he downed his shot and debated asking for a sixth.  His bill would suck, he still hadn't recovered from the last suspension without pay, and he still had to negotiate some kind of backpay for the weeks he spent in Team Rocket's closet prison.  Plus, he had the kid and the croagunk to feed these days.

Thank the Tapu the kid still nursed his first screwdriver.  On further drunken review, they should have celebrated at home.  Trading off shots from a liquor bottle and yelling at a bad action movie still counted as a celebration even if they'd done that last weekend (allegedly to celebrate the kid sleeping through the night, but in reality to celebrate not working Saturday for a change).

"I am going to close our tab I think. I believe you should be done with the drinking and we should depart," the kid announced, his words faster than usual.  Or 000 was drunker than usual.

"I'm not that-"

"You have been taking shots from an empty glass three times now," the kid pointed out, flagging the bartender for a check, "I think it is the appropriate time to be finishing before you are vomiting tomorrow."

"Heh, I'ma vomit tonight, you kidding?"  000 pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket and passed it to the kid, "You get it, I don't wanna stand up."

The kid rolled his eyes, "Quite fine, I am acquiring a soft drink then as well.  Two soft drinks."

"Make it waters, we might have a poverty situation after this tab," 000 grumbled as he scurried off to grab a bartender's attention.

"Hey, _Hala_ ," a familiar voice from behind 000 said, a hand dropping on his shoulder, "Ain't seen you around here lately."

000 spun around to see 221- the 221 that worked in surveillance of East Kanto and collected pictures of Giovanni and his boy for a solid two months.  Of all the agents that could pick the kid sitting behind him out of a lineup, it was 221. The (former) chief of Organized Crime had finished far too many shots to handle this with any sort of grace.  

"Been busy." Words failed him.  221 could end both him and the kid.  "Work and all."

The useless lump of an agent managed to corner 000 and was waving the bait at him for kicks. 221 wore a smirk a mile wide, keeping up his protocol approved charade of 'pretend not to know each other'.  The agents ignored it. 000 had been in this bar with his team a thousand times, complaining about work. Hell, he'd run into 221 at the fucking grocery store and walked out with a set of ops updates scrawled on his shopping list.   They never followed the fucking protocol. "Sucks. Glad you to see you on the other end of it."

"Eh, you know how it goes.  Never a light at the end of the tunnel it seems."  Not this tunnel, this tunnel lead directly to a fifteen year sentence with the chance of parole diminishing in every second he spent in this bar.

"True," the smirk widened, "Well, I'll let you get back to your date, he seems pretty eager to get you out of here."

"Eh, met him tonight and he's kinda young, think I'll just walk him home," 000 shrugged, kicking himself mentally.  221 must have watched them for over an hour. Unless 'home' meant 'the nearest police station' (it didn't), he couldn't talk his way out of this one.

"I'm sure," the other agent snorted, going back to his table.

000 was a rattata in a trap.  At best, he could expect a good blackmail offer.  Maybe 221 would take that angle, since field agent pay sucked worse than chief pay.  Team Rocket was gone, chief of Organized Crime was an open position, anyway. He could call him in the morning and work something out (something within his price range, like a strong recommendation he take Org Crime, since 000 couldn't afford blackmail any more than he could afford this bar tab).

He grabbed by the kid by the arm on his death march toward the door.  The kid argued with the bartender over the price of the two bottles of soda, and if there were ever a time 000 didn't need that, it was now.  "Did you pay?"

"Ah, yes, however I am in disagreement over-"

"Forget it, we gotta go."

"Right right," the kid agreed, hurrying out the door with him.

They were fucked.  They were really and truly fucked.  This couldn't even be pinned on 000's dumb decisions since his choices were get fucked or leave the kid out in the cold.  Well, the bar had been his dumb decision. If they drank in front of the TV, they wouldn't be fucked right now.

"What exactly did that man want to be discussing with you when I departed to pay our tab?" the kid questioned as soon as they'd made it half a block from the bar, "Did he by any chance attempt to threaten you?"

"I mean, explicitly no but we're still-" 000 stopped dead, "Wait, how did you know?"

"I have been trying to keep watching him all of this evening.  What did he say? Keep walking, we may be in a bit of a danger right now, we need to keep moving in case there are others.  I am not… of great help with the fighting, not in this state." He shuffled 000 along, shoving him a bit more than a drunk person ought to be shoved.

000 tried to brake, "Other whats now?"

"Grunts," he explained, slower, "It will not be good for the either of us if they realize our association and your identity, as it is effectively entirely my fault that the Virid-"

"Kid, you're confused.  That's my fucking coworker. But yeah he's about to fuck us both, he knows what you look like, he was running surveillance..."

The kid's eyes widened as 000 put the pieces together in his drunken haze.

"Fucker's a double agent," the chief of Org Crime spat for the both of them.

"Oh dear," the kid breathed.

"Fuck, this isn't good," he started walking again, twice as fast as he should have been able to with this much liquor in him.  His liver could work wonders under pressure, that was for damn sure. "No fucking wonder he fucking forgot to make backups of all our shit.  Probably planned to delete everything on his own time."

"That would obscure the admissible court evidence and clear the other grunts on grounds of due process.  And now along the way to this plan, he can incriminate you and give a sort of illusion that the disappearance of Giovanni is well, your fault," the kid theorized, "Or appear to the unknowledgeable that this is some sort of systemic traitorous issue with the International Police."

"They'd spend forever chasing Giovanni on the wrong fucking lead," 000 hissed, "They'd never find him in the end, since they'll think I'm the fucking mole."

To make everything worse, the cards didn't stack well in 000's favor to clear his name as it was.  This would topple them. 221 shouldn't have known about the Mew project any more than his boss, but at the end of the day, someone did and Team Rocket would want to pin the charges elsewhere.  Even if 221 wasn't the man in question, he had a colleague who's ass needed saving.

000 last 'official' recorded mission ended in becoming old Gio's boyfriend, followed three weeks AWOL (as a Team Rocket hostage but still AWOL), followed by hanging around with the man's latest toy.  The last six months of his life had the perfect holes to construct the wrong fucking puzzle. 221 had the last piece.

000 was _fucked_.

"Oh dear… oh dear…" the kid started to panic as they practically bolted into 000's apartment and up the stairs.  Safety would be the apartment. They'd need a warrant for the apartment and 221 would probably marinade on this until he at least thought up some blackmail.  000 had to pray to Bulu for blackmail. A double agent couldn't be trusted on either side realistically, and with the boss up in smoke, 221 could make some money (if 000 had any).  Blackmail could benefit both of them.

Well, no.

"Fuck that, I'm praying for time," 000 thought aloud as he slammed the door shut and flipped his six deadbolts (most of them anyway).

"Praying for… what exactly now?" the kid asked, picking up the sleepy croagunk that he released from his pokeball upon entry. Sableye gave them no such greeting, instead scurrying under the couch.

"Not blackmail."

"...Your statements do not make any sort of sense."

"Forget… forget that bit," 000 waved the thinking aloud off, "221 didn't say anything to you, did he?"

"I think he was under the presumed assumption I would not recognize him… as grunts were… well…"

"Beneath you, I get it," the kid maybe still had some concietment to work itself out, "But, he didn't feel like waving this one in your face.  He probably just had a few too many and decided being obvious to me was in order. Make me panic and leave, see if I'd send you to jail to save my own skin, be the dick that he is, I dunno.  But if _you_ heard him-"

"Well his status and his plans would be revealed, or at least the parts of it as we understand."

"I'ma call our understanding good, unless he calls tomorrow looking for a payout," 000 reasoned, pacing the floor.  The floor moved. So did the walls and the cabinets. Whatever he thought his liver had been doing, it clearly had just decided to stall until 000's anxiety left him.  "If he didn't want to rub this shit in your face then he doesn't want me to know he's double because if I know he's double he's fucked come Monday. Which means he can't enact whatever stupid plan immediately.  Or at least until after Monday. If he planned on ratting me in the next couple days why not be a dick to you it doesn't fucking matter. We'd both go straight to jail no bond. But he was being a fucking sneak about it which means we have some time to fucking work with this.  He was probably hoping I'd send you either to jail or back to Gio or turn you lose and ruin both our lives… I dunno. It doesn't matter. What matters is that we're one step ahead and we've got some fucking time to outsmart the fucking bastard."

The kid paused for a moment, deliberating his train of thought.  "...How do you still stand upright with that volume of alcohol in your bloodstream?"

"I'm about two minutes from vomiting," 000 admitted, the floor moving too much to continue his frantic pacing.  He attempted to brace himself on the counter, but somehow missed and fell into it instead. "But tomorrow we're gonna figure out a way to make sure he goes up the wall first."

He was actually ninety-seven seconds from vomiting, as the kid pointed out.  000 proceeded to spend the remainder of his night bent over the toilet, regretting the liquor.  The kid and croagunk sat on the edge of the tub, bringing him water and preventing him from drowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who's living arrangement is a bit similar to 000's (except vaguely clean), I'm intimately familiar with the joys of the person on the couch side of your mattress waking you up. Also I don't care what ficverse we're in, Looker can't cook.
> 
> Like a dumbass, I forgot to mention about three chapters ago- credit for Nanu's backstory with the IP goes to Brick, it was their headcannon and not mine.


	6. Cleaning House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu straightens his shit out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Corrupt police, aftermath of a shit relationship, platonic bedsharing, smoking, drinking, swearing, hangover.

****On the list of things 000 never wanted to do again, 'cart 221's desktop computer from the office while hungover on a Sunday' sat high.  It fell a bit under 'hostage of Team Rocket' and well under 'arrested because of 221', but somewhere above getting shot. Getting knifed was difficult to place on this hierarchy.  While 000 knew how much that hurt, it had been few years. He couldn't remember if it was better or worse than dragging the tower the fifteen blocks back to his apartment, stopping every so often to vomit into window planters.

The kid offered to help, but in light of last night, the kid wasn't permitted more than two steps away from the apartment side of the front door.  This was _now_ a hostage situation.  000 wouldn't lose him to his own stupidity.

On the third flight of stairs, he regretted not bringing the kid down to help.  He'd run of out of planters to throw up into and was forced to hold it down for the five flights up to his apartment.  The elevator needed to be fixed sooner than later. He'd pester building management on it after work tomorrow. The cheap bastards couldn't be bothered to fix anything without complaints.

The kid looked mortified once the other man dragged the tower in and proceeded to vomit in the sink.

"I would have helped you if you had required assistance!" he half-chastised, half-worried as the chief wiped off his mouth and marched onto the porch for a smoke.

"Nope," he replied with determination after he lit a cigarette. "Said I was gonna get this."

Retrieving the fucking computer tower provided a good enough distraction as any to how _fucked_ the two of them were.  If he didn't find something on 221's computer, he wouldn't be complaining to management tomorrow about the lack of elevator.  The two would never care about stairs again.

"And you… certainly did.  Perhaps you should sit for some moments."

"In a second. I'll set that up on the coffee table and we can get cracking," he took a drag. Fuck 221.

The kid leaned on the railing next to him and stared down at the alley.  "...If we do not find something of use, I will still be able to give testimony against them.  Do not be worried."

000 listened to his words, took a final drag, and chucked the butt into the alley.  "Hey kid."

"Hm?"

"We're not even going to entertain that alternative," the chief of Organized Crime ordered, turning to go inside.

"...If I do not, you may be implicated as an associate of Team Rocket," the former real Team Rocket associate argued, following him in and taking care to lock the patio door, "It is not true, and I am the one that knows this best."

"We're not entertaining that," 000 repeated.  It didn't matter that the holes in his story were an actual misguided attempt at espionage.  He wouldn't sacrifice a dumbass teenager to save himself from his own stupidity, especially not after the lengths he'd gone through to save the kid in the first place.  "Help me set this damn thing up, will you?"

"It is for the-"

"Help me set up the computer." 000 dropped the subject.  The kid wouldn't take the stand unless the chief went down hard.

After some fumbling with 000's monitor (which he kept in the closet, since while the IP provided him with a computer for home use, he couldn't bother to fuck with it), he came to the conclusion that a) they better find something because he was never doing this again, and b) the kid was not more tech-savvy than the IP agent.  Connecting the tower to the monitor and guessing 221's password took over an hour (000 collected his password list from inside his desk, but couldn't tell which went to what).

On a more positive note, the kid _was_ familiar with all the ways Rocket operatives communicated, even if he couldn't work the technology himself.  Much of his actual work in Team Rocket involved intercepting (and translating) emails to satiate Giovanni's paranoia.  He knew the codes they used, but per his advice, it would be a nonissue anyway. Grunts forgot to use code all the time.

It was not a nonissue.  After a few hours of reading through personal emails, 000 couldn't make heads or tails of it.  The kid, however, understood all of it and could rattle off incessantly about the gritty details.  "Family obligations over the weekend" meant that a "few days at the fishing hole" (face to face meeting) was denied.  "Planning to set the smoke alarms off" indicated the recipient could expect a phone call later. "Picked up ingredients for shit soup" threw him for a loop for a bit, until he realized (with context 000 didn't understand) it meant 221 had raided 000's desk at found something good.

The chief deeply regretted his lackadaisical attitude towards locking his office. Unlike motel rooms, his office was smack in the middle of a high security building crawling with folks obligated to keep in peak physical condition (and hopefully didn't pay off the evaluator to pass them) and stay proficient with firearms (once again, and hopefully didn't just pay of the evaluator… if all IP agents were like 000, the organization would be so much better and yet not).  His office could be turned upside down for all the fucks 000 gave.

Any references to the raid were kept off written communication.  The last information gleaned from an email 221 sent prior to that night was "setting the smoke alarms off right now, but the vacuum fire might have been bad enough to need another place to stay tonight."

The point remained though, without the kid, he'd have no clue.  While sending a _fuckton_ of weird personal communications during the workday was frowned upon, it wasn't illegal (or even against International Police policy).  Without someone standing in the director's office, explaining the code, this held no water.

"Well, I suppose we are now aware of the assignments the competent grunts are given," the kid sighed.

"What a relief. My department is competent at something," 000 scoffed, sitting back on the couch and running a hand through his hair.

"Perhaps there is a way to determine if this 221 was procuring information from this machine to be used elsewhere? Such as saving it to a disk?"

"I'm sure there _is_ , but I don't have a fucking clue as to how," 000 put his head in his hands, "Ops Sec won't do an internal search without cause… and I don't have one of those, not when I'm being floated as a suspect for the data breaches. If his emails made a Tapu-damned lick of sense those would count _but…"_

"But they are somewhat not useful," the other man bemoaned, standing for more coffee.  He took 000's mug with him, giving it a refill with his own. "I still find it very difficult to be believing that he worked in your division for some years with zero mistakes.  He is human. Mistakes would have been made."

000 clicked idly at different folders, "We could spend a week or two looking and find _something_ to warrant an investigation, probably.  We don't have a week."

"I feel the two of us will have a very long night in that case."

"Yeah, sorry about that. This must be kinda boring for you. You can put the TV on it you want, I'll tell you when I find something suspicious."

"Ack no, this is exciting!" the kid insisted, "I would not want to do anything besides!"

The chief chuckled. "Wish I could get responses like that out of my team."

"Perhaps I should join the International Police," he laughed in response.

000 snorted a chuckle but didn't reply.  He couldn't do that to the kid. That'd be out of the frying pan and into the fire.  The kid didn't deserve that.

"...I have a thought," the kid said with intent, taking the mouse from 000 and clicking around without much aim, "Where are chat logs and the like housed?"

"Chat whats?"

"There is some form of inter-office messaging system, no?  It would create logs," he explained his reasoning, clicking random buttons and freezing the computer through RAM overload.  "But even if their emails are properly formalized to avoid suspicion, a daily communication may not be as thoughtful."

000 grabbed his hand and directed him to the correct program, eyebrow twitching in frustration.  " _That_ icon, then go to history."

The kid wasn't perturbed by the guidance.  "Ah yes, of course."

221 apparently spent most of his time talking to 418, since that seemed to be every other entry.   The large volume of messaging during the workday surprised 000 not at all. 418 often picked 221 up from the bar once he struck out for the night (which was always… he and 000 should have found better bars, in retrospect) and reminded him his rent was due. The kid pulled up the most recent conversation. 

> 221: so I don't know which is worse
> 
> 221: the fact he survived that shit
> 
> 221: or the fact his kept his damn job
> 
> 418: Figured this would happen when G got greedy and didn't shoot him on sight.

"Ah, see, my suspicions were correct.  Your department has two compromised persons.  Team Rocket works in tandems," the kid pointed out.  "I would imagine this 418 person is their partner."

000 stared at the chat log, stunned. A part of him relaxed at the blatant evidence on the screen in front of him, and part of him felt bewildered at his own obliviousness to the situation. "And here I was thinking they were just fucking."

"...Also a possibility.  While they would not be permitted to be this degree of open over official Team Rocket communications… this, however, would not be monitored on that particular end and-"

"They can be dumbasses on IP servers, because the IP has no control over the assholes in it," 000 finished the thought, taking a sip of coffee, "Lessee what else they got."

The first few lines alone would nab the investigation required, earning 221 a suspension in the process.  000 was nothing, however, if not nosy. Good International Police agents needed to be.

> 221: oh yeah definitely
> 
> 221: 000 is a fucking meowth
> 
> 221: 9 fucking lives
> 
> 221: still can't figure out how he knew about viridian since we sure as shit didn't
> 
> 418: Must have overheard one of the grunts say something, though I can't imagine any of them knew either.
> 
> 418: Or that Kalosian kid told him.
> 
> 418: Saw him walking around bloodied up again last week but didn't get the story on how he earned it.

The _again_ part ran a chill down 000's spine.  The kid was obviously reading this himself, because he went white and balled his hands to keep the fidget down.

> 221: didn't need the story, i got to watch g unload on him
> 
> 221: shit was not pretty
> 
> 418: Never is.
> 
> 221: usually doesn't cry though
> 
> 221: went fucking fountainworks in the back hallway before he could even stand up
> 
> 221: and g stormed the fuck off for the night he was so mad. usually he just throws him out for a couple hours to think over what a dumbass he is.  
> 
> 418: Weird.  Think 000 stole him?

000 could feel his blood boil.  The kid sat back on the couch with his head in his hands, twitching a bit.

000 put a hand on his knee, unable to think of any other comforting gesture.  "Are you going to be all right going through-"

"I am fine," the kid cut in, though he stayed put.

"...If you say so."  The chief was starting to notice a tonal pattern to all the kid's 'fines'.  That was a bad fine.

> 221: fucking doubt it, kid took a beating for the grunts raiding g's shit again from what I could tell
> 
> 221: besides you should see 000 in action at the bar
> 
> 221: never seen somebody think they can insult a rando all night and still score

That was…. maybe a fair point.  000 preferred to think of it as verbal jousting.  Besides, it wasn't like anyone expected the goal of their interaction to be any more than a quick fuck.  Liking each other wasn't necessary and 000 didn't see a need to start off on that foot.

Also, it did work on occasion.  In retrospect, the two just needed better bars over the last few years.

> 221: he would've been crying all week if 000 tried
> 
> 418: This is why I don't go out with you two.
> 
> 418: Seriously tho, I can't think of who else besides the kid.  
> 
> 418: Maybe it was revenge for getting his ass beat.  
> 
> 418: Had to figure he'd ball up at some point.
> 
> 418: Just didn't think he'd be successful with it.
> 
> 221: may
> 
> 221: they'd both be dead tho
> 
> 418: I never saw the kid after the raid.
> 
> 221: i haven't seen a lot of guys since the raid
> 
> 418: True.  Been trying to get into contact with Roland for like a week now, I think he went weasel and turned himself in.
> 
> 418: Vernon did.
> 
> 221: i hope he did. i'm petitioning for his job
> 
> 221: admin for east kanto and chief of org crime?
> 
> 221: bingo, motherfuckers
> 
> 418: Greedy bastard.
> 
> 418: So it's official then?
> 
> 221: all but
> 
> 221: brass wasn't gonna leave 000 in here for one more stupid idea  
> 
> 221: field director was like 'maybe we should move him to supernormal so he stops trying to seduce his targets'
> 
> 221: cripes that'll probably just encourage it
> 
> 221: they deal with all kinds of weird shit over there
> 
> 221: he's probably into it
> 
> 418: Man fuck you I'm never gonna get these images out of my head.
> 
> 221: don't look at me i didn't say a damn thing

000 glanced over to confirm the kid had stopped reading.  He had, to which the IP agent breathed a mild sigh of relief.  No reason for him to get the same mental images. Or misconceptions.

> 418: Whatever.  As long as he gets moved.  
> 
> 418: He's a bitch to work around.
> 
> 221: at least we'll have less work until this blows over
> 
> 221: on both sides
> 
> 418: Speak for yourself, I'm prepping evidence for prosecution.
> 
> 418: I don't know how I got on this detail.
> 
> 418: There's no way to get half these guys off.
> 
> 418: Seriously everyone is just a fucking criminal and it's obvious.
> 
> 221: tr could use some fat cutting, just saying
> 
> 418: I gotta look like I tried.
> 
> 418: Not like you're helping.  You could have started deleting shit.
> 
> 221: waiting for the list of shit you need deleted
> 
> 221: like you said i needed to wait for first
> 
> 418: Fuck it.  I'll work around what you do.  
> 
> 418: Marinade on it any longer and 000's gonna start asking about the backups anyway.
> 
> 418: Kinda surprised he hasn't already.
> 
> 221: motherfucker's been out of it
> 
> 221: had to remind him what meeting he was in this morning
> 
> 221: he straight up forgot
> 
> 418: Probably drinking again.  Can't say I blame him.
> 
> 221: "again"

000 scowled. Given the level of bullshit Org Crime threw at him on a daily basis, he wasn't that heavy of a drinker.   He'd never been drunk _at work_ , in any case.  He'd been _tired_ , since picking up the slack for the rest of the clown rodeo took more late nights than 000 ever wanted, but never drunk.

> 221: he ain't touched the vodka in his desk drawer tho

That might be why most of the International Police thought he was a drunk, in retrospect.

That or the two failed plans to seduce a target.

000 made a quick prayer to Bulu promising disposal of the vodka if the IP didn't arrest him by lunch on Monday.

> 418: It's creepy the way you keep tabs on him.
> 
> 221: paid for the privilege
> 
> 418: Once again...
> 
> 418: Anyway seriously I can work around whatever you do, just start deleting files.
> 
> 221: i'll do it Monday
> 
> 221: chief didn't question my doctor's appointment so i'm golfing
> 
> 418: He's gotta be drinking again.

"Not anymore, you bastard," 000 said to his computer screen.

"I have a bad thought.  Could you perhaps procure pictures of your team members?" the kid requested, looking back down at the screen.

"Oh… uh, sure," 000 clicked around, looking for the internal personnel database.  Eventually, he found an org chart with photos on it. His was awful. The humidity stuck his hair flat to his head despite every effort to fix it in the bathroom before work. Sableye had slashed his good tie earlier that morning so he wore the now-OpsSec Director's pink polka dot monstrosity.  The black eye and split lip earned in a fight with some arrogant park ranger at the bar the weekend before hadn't healed in time for the ID photo. To top it all off, it had been taken a decade ago, before his hair salt and peppered and the bags under his eyes drooped in. 000 needed to lose his ID and get a picture that still looked like him.

"Exactly as I suspected," the kid sighed, "...I am sorry to be the one to divulge this, but I'm certain they're all double agents."

Fucking hell.

This explained a lot of things, actually.

"Tapu Bulu, Fini, Lele, and Koko…" 000 grumbled, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I can recognize these nine… ten, from meetings" he pointed at the screen, "And I have had to deliver the money to pay these two, so they are at the least compromised personnel.  That leaves these three, but it would be difficult if-"

"-if everybody wasn't united against me," 000 realized, taking a deep breath, "Fucking hell, this explains why nothing gets done."

"I am amazed you execute anything successfully at all."

"The old bastard's not stupid, he was letting us clean up for him on occasion," 000 seethed, clicking back to 221's chat logs, "We're taking them all out then."

Every. Last. One.

000 didn't waste fifteen (...seventeen) years of his career to keep Giovanni's underworld tidy for him.

"I shall make fresh coffee if that is the case," the kid announced, standing as the color returned to his face, "This will be quite a long evening."

"Damn right it will be," 000 agreed, cracking his knuckles, "Oh, and kid?"

"Hm?"

"Honestly, wasn't trying to honeypot you."  In light of everything else horrible the kid had gone through, that warranted some clarification.  

"I am aware," he informed the chief as he fumbled with the lid on the coffee, " I heard the reports from the previous time you attempted that methodology.  It was much different behavior."

000 rolled his eyes.  At least he didn't have to worry about the kid thinking 000 wanted to fuck him then.  "There's something unsettling about Giovanni telling you about that, you know?"

The kid snorted a laugh, though it hid a pang of grim reality, "Oh, definitely."

-

In the end, 000 printed out three hundred and twelve pages of chat logs for the brass, including fifty-something pages dedicated to sending 702 to take data from the Mew project off the Supernorm chief's computer.   Every ream of paper stolen from the office, plus one purchased at at the convenience store downstairs around four, went into their efforts. Neither slept, though 000 offered the kid his bed in light of hogging the couch.  Instead he worked alongside the IP chief until seven in the morning, reviewing that their printouts encompassed the most important incidents (000 had to hand it to him, the kid had three times the attention to detail). The logs went back almost six years, when 000 took over Org Crime, proceeded to transfer out the less useful employees, and inadvertently opened up spots for Team Rocket sleeper cells to move in.

The director looked absolutely stunned, but it didn't take more than a few precursory glances before ordering a temporary lockdown on Organized Crime's wing.  By then, the kid had dropped off the tower at the front desk. 000 wasn't going to let him, but between the lack of sleep and a fairly impressive disguise whipped together from 000's unused gym clothes, the equally unused mop, and his coat (plus…. the fact that everyone who could ID him had been locked over in Org Crime and blacked out), he took the chance.

Plus, this was the kid's doing, he deserved in on the action. Physically joining the fray at the eleventh hour brought a particular high that couldn't be matched.  The chief knew this well, and the kid earned it.

With lockdown complete, the director barked at 000 to go get briefed into Supernormal, since his transfer would still be happening and this better not be the most desperate ploy she'd ever seen to avoid the Supernormal Phenomenon division.

000 spent the rest of the week marinating over there while Org Crime fell to pieces.  He made himself helpful only when absolutely requisite, as punishment for… well for Supernormal.  Supernormal could have sucked worse, he supposed. It was almost fun by Wednesday, when the briefings got over with and he could review projects.  The new chief wound up at the office so late that the kid called checking he hadn't been arrested (which took more than a confusing minute to process, because the kid used mechanic's shop as a facade but 000 couldn't drive).

By the Thursday, the whole of Org Crime save their chief commanded bail too high for anyone to pay off, even family.  They'd rot in Federal until court, splitting a PD amongst the dozen of them. The brass went head over tail trying to restock the department in time to bring the rubble of the Team Rocket collapse to trial.  By Friday, 000 cut a lucrative deal to resume his old position for a few weeks in the name of keeping it together (and a hefty bonus for his troubles). He then bailed at four in the afternoon, as was planned until he could resume work in Supernormal.

There was celebrating to do anyway.  000 officially landed in the clear from the Giovanni incidents. They found the mole and then some. Moreover, _everyone_ who could implicate the kid went behind bars.  All he needed for return to real life was a passport and a birth certificate

Granted, they weren't taking their chances.  The last incident scared them straight enough to realize out-of-apartment adventures beyond the grocery store were better left until the kid had an ID and a backstory. Besides, the bank account hadn't recovered yet even with the bonus on the way.

By nine that evening, the two laid on 000's bed, half drunk on success and half drunk on midshelf bourbon picked up from the supermarket on the way home (and the rest of the vodka, since the chief had to make good to Bulu).

"But they are fucking losing it over this genetic engineering fuckery," 000 divulged, ignoring his security clearance, all the rules along with it, and the fact this project almost brought about his demise a few weeks back. The kid had nobody to tell.  If anything, the chief was sure of this. "Director of Field Ops is real pissed she has to divert all our resources to the investigation, since we can't find the damn project either."

"Ah from the sounds of it the project does not want to be found," the kid commented as he scrapped the last of the noodles from a takeout container, "I cannot say I am unfamiliar with that sentiment."

"Guess so.  Fuck only knows what R&D did with it, can't say I blame the damn thing," he shrugged.

"I can help you with that mission next," the kid offered.  From his tone, he only half joked. He'd enjoyed their little project the previous weekend.  He talked about it during every one of their middle-of-the-night-wakeup chats, instead of whatever his nightmare was about.  It relaxed him more than talking about his shit dreams (000 didn't quite mind, he had some familiarity with that sentiment for a change of pace).

The chief had to admit, with some actual training and experience, the kid would be good in the International Police.  Most of the agents called in from missions with a stubbed toe. This kid legitimately had a shit life that culminated in his ex slugging him and leaving him for arrest, and yet despite whatever residual effect had hold of him, he still stayed up an entire night helping 000 arrest his former compatriots.  000 would _kill_ to have someone like this on his team.

Except, he couldn't do that to the kid.  He deserved a job with _good_ people.  He deserved to not compromise his morals.  He deserved _normal_.

"I can't let you," he shook his head.

"I am aware, security clearance," the kid bemoaned.

"...No.  Hell, I could get you one of those," he admitted thanks to the alcohol.  It wouldn't take much to bring the kid into the IP now. A fake identity and a personal offer to handle interviewing the new recruit would do the trick.  "I don't think they'd be good for you."

"Why?  I would be good at it."

"Oh you'd be damn good at it, that's half the problem," 000 laughed, taking another shot, "No offense kid, but you're kind of a mess.  You don't need a lifestyle that has it out for you."

The kid's face sank as he set the takeout box on the windowsill, but he said nothing.

"Don't make me feel guilty about this," the International Police agent grumbled, "It's for your own good."

That earned 000 a glare from the corner of the kid's eye, "I can handle myself better than you presume."

000 rolled his eyes, "If we're gonna argue this, you better take another shot.  I'm not drunk enough for a guilt trip and you're not drunk enough to start guilt tripping me."

"Fine then," he grinned and took a swing from the bottle that was more to the effect of three shots.

At about that moment, Sableye knocked over the partly-empty noodle containers 000's had left on the floor.  By the time they got the mess cleaned up, they were too drunk to do anything besides lay on the bed, get drunker, and trade tales about the horrible places they'd grown up.  The argument went postponed.

However, the drunker 000 got, the less reasons he could think up keep the kid away from the International Police.

-

000 woke to a raging Saturday hangover.  The kid had gone Constrict with him- wrapped around like 000 would float away if he let go.  From the snores, he had no idea he was doing it.

For a brief second, the chief considered rolling into him, getting comfortable, and going the fuck back to sleep.  The kid was a fucking space heater and they'd left the AC on full last night. And despite his general distaste for people, he was fond of cuddles- probably because of a thirty year starvation diet of human contact, but fond nonetheless.  It was half (...most) the fun of picking someone up at the bar.

Granted, he wasn't picking up the kid.  He was fifteen (sixteen) years older, and fifteen years wise enough to deduce that a) the kid had issues without 000 fucking him up, b) he needed to meet people his own age if he could ever get unfucked up, and c) by the fucking Tapu 000 still had to share an apartment with him, at least for the next few months.  Making this awkward would make everything worse.

The chief squirmed out of the other man's grip and crawled out of bed to make coffee.  By the time he had the pot set up, the kid was rubbing his eyes and trying to avoid the light.

"Do you need use of the toilet for any reason?"

"Not yet… still drunk I think," 000 grumbled, resting his head against the counter to watch coffee drip.

"Fantastic, I will borrow use of it."  He scrambled out of bed to throw up in the bathroom, tripping over Croagunk in the process.  

The pokemon croaked in disapproval before wandering to the other man for some breakfast.  000 chuckled as Croagunk tugged on his pant leg. He fed the pokemon and poured two cups of coffee, before bringing them into the bathroom.  The kid huddled over the toilet still, for once sicker than the IP agent.

"This is not how I intended to spend today," he moaned, clutching his stomach and leaning against the tub.  "There was things to be done."

"I can clean up the kitchen myself," 000 responded.  He plopped on the floor next to him and sipped on one of the cups of coffee.  The busted bathroom light still burned into his eyes.

"It is not that," he corrected as he sank towards the floor, "I need to start beginning a job search now that it is safe to leave this building."

This kid really didn't stop.  Ever. "Cripes, think you'd just want to enjoy being outside this apartment for a change first."

"I cannot stay here forever," he pointed out with defiance, "I need to be moving toward that."

"...I don't care too much if you're here or not," 000 lied. He did care. He cared that the kid not go out on his own, not while he still woke up every other night with a nightmare.  The kid was only okay in the sense he could ignore his problems for 000's shit, which wasn't a healthy solution.

And admittedly, the chief liked the company.  He'd never had anyone in his life to call the office when he stayed too late.  It didn't feel like the invasion of privacy he'd always assumed it would.

"I appreciate that," the kid curled his knees to his chest, "but… it is not fair to you."

"Don't get too caught up in it," 000 advised, "at least today.  I dunno about you, but I feel like death."

This advice didn't go unheeded.  They laid on the floor for over an hour, the kid groaning and 000 lost in thought.  He didn't want the kid to _leave_ per say.  Stabilize, have his own life, do things healthy for a young adult… but maybe not leave to somewhere 000 couldn't keep an eye on him.  He couldn't live with that. The kid would need a job in Saffron, preferably somewhere on the block.

Granted, 000 spent as much time out of Saffron as in Saffron.  He once spent an entire year not in his apartment. Supernorm would have him shooting to the ends of the planet for _months_ at a time, out of contact with the kid.  Keeping the kid in holed up here wouldn't be fair to him and wouldn't accomplish anything anyway.

The unfortunate better option _was_ the International Police, but 000 couldn't live with this option either.  The difference between them and Team Rocket was the side the coin fell on. The kid already proved he didn't care if it was heads or tails.  He wanted to throw himself at _something_ , which was a feeling the 000 could comprehend enough to be afraid of.

At least in the International Police, the kid could do something in the vague direction of 'good'.

The thought rang in his head as he pulled the kid off the floor to let him doze off again.  He dreamed about it when he dozed off on the couch himself, sleeping off the hangover. He considered it as the two sat down to early pizza.  He pondered it through a few battles in the park on Sunday and all day instead of working on Monday.

000 wouldn't mind the kid in the International Police.  The kid wouldn't mind being in the International Police.  The chief just had to forget what the organization would do to him in the end.

-

Three days later, the kid woke up at three, another nightmare.

More accurately, 000 woke up at three to the kid screaming in his sleep.  He shook the back of the sofa until the kid jolted up, flailing and confused.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's just me," 000 grabbed his arm, "it's just me."

The kid panted, his brain gradually processing his surroundings.  He never looked good when he woke up from this moments, but this was the first time 000 saw him genuinely _afraid_.  His eyes went wide  and the shakes didn't stop within few minutes of waking.  "....Nightmare," he breathed after a few minutes, "Only a nightmare…"

"Just sit for a sec," 000 told him, "It's okay… everything's okay."

The kid nodded, staring into space.  Croagunk roused and crawled over the back of the couch into his lap.  000 took a cue from the pokemon and slid over the couch himself, sitting where the kid didn't have to face him.

"...I dreamt my parents had become angry with me over not becoming a lawyer again… it was… more anger than usual."

"They wanted you to be a lawyer?" 000 asked.  He couldn't decide if the kid would be awful or fantastic at that.  Fantastic, because he'd argued with a bartender over the price of a soda, but awful given he was far too blunt.

The kid curled over his pokemon, "My career choice was not permitted to embarrass them.  ...In the dream they morphed somehow into the form of Giovanni, and he continued to chastise me over the same matters.  It was awful."

"Cripes, I'll say."

"...I am sorry it is taking me so long."

"Kid," 000 tried to level with him, "It hasn't even been a _week_.  Take some fucking time."

"I don't… I am a burden to you," he muttered, half to himself, half to the other man, "I cannot stay here, not doing nothing.  It's… it's everything I was never supposed to be… it is… not a life. It's a continuation of before..."

That was a response 000 couldn't argue against, though he wanted to point out he hadn't beaten the kid senseless yet (he refrained).   It wasn't a life, no matter how comfortable the agent was with his presence. The kid _just_ did this, for a bastard who took advantage of it.  For parents who made him bend to their will. Who knew the next person who would find a way to make him do nothing for a cost.

If the kid wanted a real existence, 000 could at least supervise it.

"...Fuck 'em all," 000 said, prepared to regret every decision he was about to make.  The kid would be good in the IP. The IP would be…. a fix for some of the problems the kid had.  Not all of them, and not long term, but it would get him a job he could care about and some money so he didn't stress over relying on 000.

The chief would just have to keep him safe from the International Police.  Again. Forever.

"...No thank you."

"Not what I meant," 000 rolled his eyes, pulling him by the shoulder to make eye contact, "I mean, I'll make a deal with you."

"About…?"

" _If_ you want to be International Police, I will help you-" he glared at the kid as his eyes lit up, "under a few conditions."

"...Let me consider them," the kid agreed after a moment.

000 had to smile at that one, he'd learned something about walking in blind.   "All right. Number one, you work for me. You don't ask for a division transfer and you don't take any other ones you're offered.  I don't want to see you landing your ass in some sketchy shit."

"I think I would be able to discern-" He'd also learned how to argue, but based on his stubbornness about everything else, 000 had a feeling it was more 'remembered how to argue'.

The agent cocked an eyebrow, "Let's consider where I found you."

"...fair point," he muttered, averting eye contact.

"Number two. We pretend we didn't know each other."  000 had to say it. He'd have to get another agent to recommend him (someone with discretion owed him a favor), since the chief needed to take over the interview process.  In public, they'd be cold strangers. "I'm not as fucking friendly at the office."

"Understandable," the kid agreed.

"Number three, whatever identity I steal from Ops Sec is now you. For the rest of your life.  Burn your old passport." 000 didn't believe he'd have much of a problem with that either.

"Already… lost. Or stolen," he shrugged.

"Close enough," he wasn't surprised, that must have been how Giovanni kept him in Team Rocket to begin with, "And number four, I decide when it's over and you don't question it."

The kid stared at him, tilting his head with confusion. "How do you mean?"

000 let out a sigh, "...the IP does some sketchy shit.  When- _if_ it ever gets bad, if it's ever finally something I can't sleep on, I'm leaving. _You're_ coming with me, because I won't leave you in any situation I can't be in myself.  So if I say leave, we leave. No arguing, no notice, no last hurrah. We walk away.  I'll take you on to the next thing."

He'd gone through hell and high water to drag this kid out of trouble.  The day would come for 000 when he couldn't stomach a damn thing he did for a living, with all the lying and the corrupt deals and the civilian folks caught up in the fray.  One day, a mission would grate against his nerves the wrong way. He'd say no. Someone (the Director of Field Ops) would dig up his contract, point out what he'd agreed to, and can him.

Then 000 would pick up his life, and start anew elsewhere. He would make the kid pick up with him.  While the chief of Org Crime spent his life alone for the purpose of preserving this option, the kid had some experience starting over.  He couldn't be the worst partner in this plan.

"...that is fair," he conceded.

"...Good.  Are you still in?"

The kid broke into a grin that stretched across his face.  "But of course."

000 sank against the back of the couch, "All right then.  Tomorrow I'll run by Ops Sec and then pick up a copy of whatever we're using at interview material right now.  It'll be two interviews and a physical, if they're still running that program, I don't think you'll-"

"I will study my hardest," his voice went deadly serious, "I promise.  This will not be an issue."

000's mouth curved into a smile. "I never thought it would be."

"...Is it all right if I stay up and read for a time? I am not feeling all together well…"

"How about I show up at noon and we watch a movie?" 000 suggested.  He wasn't feeling well either, but in the sense of 'this kid might not get better and he might wind up somewhere worse and it might wind up being my fault'.

In the end, the feeling of impending doom disappeared five minutes into the movie, with 000 passing out on the couch around the twenty minute mark.

-

Three months later, 000 looked up from his crossword at the goofy new recruit standing in the doorway, escorted by an HR rep.  He had poofy brown hair, giant brown eyes, and a trenchcoat about two sizes too big (covering a suit that fit, for a change). His hands stayed firmly stuffed into pockets to hide nervous fidgeting, though no one in the room was as nervous as HR.  000 tended to curse him out over new recruits (or attempt to fire them the second the HR drone walked away). The field chief hated new recruits and wanted nothing to do with them.

"Chief, the new field recruit for Supernormal Phenomenon division," the guy from HR said, preparing for the usual disaster.  

"Agent 836," the new recruit said, sticking out his hand and smiling so wide his back molars showed.

To the visible surprise of HR, 000 stood, shook hands, and matched the kid's smile (to a more muted degree but Chief 000 _was_ famed for his scowl).  "Pleased to meet you. I'm 000, chief of field operations for Supernormal."

No one would ever know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun story, this was originally the end of the fic. I did a coin flip back in like April or May as to whether or not they'd get together yet, it landed on not.
> 
> Credit to Brick for "Looker's parents wanted him to be a lawyer".
> 
> In other news, two week semi-hiatus. The next chapter is short and disappointing, and I was originally going to post a double to make up for it. Tl;dr, I'm honestly exhausted and don't have it in me at the moment (remember that return to hermitage thing? it didn't happen, which I guess is Healthy Behavior but I need a weekend where I don't leave my shoebox). And the weekend after that I'm on vacation.


	7. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Sad.

The kid grew into 836.  000 grew older.

836 moved into an apartment downstairs after a few months of brown-bagged lunches, nights in, and walks to the office.  It came close enough for comfort and far enough for sanity. Sanity was relative, the kid wasn't hard to live with. 000 would have found a two bedroom but his place went on rent control and then they could pry his lease from his cold, dead hands.  In any case, the kid deserved his own space. He deserved to have his own life and meet folks his own age.

He didn't.  He fell into 000's life, or more accurately, 000's life fell into his.  Fridays turned into pizza and shit movie nights. Saturdays passed while battling at the park.  A stack of pulp detective fiction grew next to 000's bed, though not as rapidly or as tall as the stack in 836's apartment.  836 coerced 000 to stop binge drinking. 000 coerced 836 into real therapy. They both quit smoking (...836 managed it a full year before 000, the competition helped).

836 filled out his trenchcoat, eventually.  000 caught an absol so  _ something  _ would retrieve him if ever kidnapped again (something besides 836, who never gave Absol the chance).  All of their missions succeeded with flying colors.

000 had to admit, having a companion was nice.  836 picked him up from the hospital when 000 landed himself there after a bad mission.  000 held pretend emergencies when 836 needed to abort a bad date. They went to theaters and walked around festivals and tried restaurants and complained about work and did all the life minutiae that felt less awkward in a tandem than solo.  

For the first time in seventeen years, 000 had an existence outside of the International Police, even if it rested solely on 836's shoulders.

-

836 killed the Faller.

000 would have killed 836 after that, given the chance.

UB-05 killed everything else between them.

In retrospect, it had to end sometime.

-

The brass offered up a directorship.  000 left before they could review the terms of his employment.  He didn't say goodbye to 836 on the way out. For the first time in well over a decade (it couldn't be  _ that _ long), he didn't give a shit about what happened to the kid.

Nanu didn't feel bad about not giving a shit, either.

-

Nanu found he still could access all of the International Police's internal servers, but he filed his check-ups under 'morbid curiosity'.  Giving a shit stayed on reserve for folks that deserved it.

-

When a death report popped up, Nanu spilled coffee all over his mouse and keyboard.  For the thirty minutes it took to dig up a dry mouse, he glanced back at the unopened report with anxiety over who bit the bullet.

When he saw it was Croagunk, Nanu regretted leaving for the first time. Vodka killed that feeling well enough.  Hala came by three days later to kill the vodka. Nanu came to his senses over a toilet, with the Melemele Kahuna hovering behind him with disapproval.

Hala proved to be an angrier nursemaid than 836.

-

Amongst the confusion over Tapu Bulu naming Nanu the Kahuna of Ula'ula, the only thing he could think was how much 836 would get a kick out of this if he found out.

Not a good kick, either.  Nanu knew he was unsuited for the task.  He didn't need 836 informing him, he had the uncles and aunties of Alola for that.

-

When the UBs showed up, Nanu prayed to gods 836 didn't believe in that the International Police didn't respond exactly as expected.

When he caught a free moment and checked their servers, he discovered his prayers fell on deaf ears.

'Looker' was an absurd choice of codename, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said it was short and disappointing, didn't I?


	8. Vodka on the Rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu drinks too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Depressive binge drinking. Awkward platonic cuddling. Discussion of horrible pasts. Reference to past fistfight. Swearing.

****Nanu spotted the fool down at the Malie City docks, sitting on a park bench and staring out over the dark water.  He rested his elbows on his knees, a bottle of clear something or another in his hand (a fifth already gone). Between the booze and the trenchcoat, he must have been melting.  The International Police demanded a uniform, yeah, but from his conversation with Anabel earlier, the dope was on vacation now. He could put on a pair of shorts.

"Mr. Looker, fancy seeing you here," Nanu greeted as he approached, against all better judgement.  The 'Looker' held some bite to it, it was a dopey choice of code name. He no doubt picked it himself, thinking it clever.  "Last boat's long gone, you know."

Looker- 836- _whoever_ he was today, glanced up.  "I realized, unfortunately.  A few minutes running late and this is the result," he bemoaned, placing the bottle on the pavement.

His sense of timing still ran far short of impeccable.  The last boat left hours ago, and Looker couldn't have been drinking on the sidewalk for more than twenty minutes.  The Tapu only knew what trouble he got up to earlier. Nanu would see the police reports about it in the morning: _"Strange foreigner chastises grown ass men for smoking too close to a nonsmoking sign", "Man in a suit and trenchcoat despite obvious summer weather tries to chase teenagers tagging the back of the community center."_

It was something of a wonder Malie station hadn't texted him about it already.

"C'mon, I'll walk you to a motel.  Can't have you out drinking on the sidewalk, it's technically illegal."

Even in the streetlamp, Nanu could see him go red.  "Oh, dear. My apologies, I was not aware! I shall dispose-"

"Relax, I'm not going to bust you for it," he shrugged.

Even if he kept on drinking, Nanu didn't care.  It was 836, there was nothing to worry about, aside from the obvious bit where he drank on a park bench at midnight about a million miles away from anywhere Nanu expected him to be.  Or even where he should have been now- Anabel mentioned they were staying on Mele Mele. When she informed Nanu of her pending trip to the national park on Akala after they got lunch, he declined under the assumption 836 would accompany her.

"Ack, I cannot ask that of you-"

"You're not asking me.  Gimme me the bottle," he ordered.  As soon as Looker passed it to him, he took the biggest swig he could muster.   It was cheap vodka, the only one from the bottom shelf that came in a glass bottle.  It stung the whole way down his throat.

"Open container tax," Nanu joked at Looker's baffled stare, wiping his mouth, "C'mon, I'll walk you to the motel so you don't get lost."

"You are on shift," he chastised, though he stood up without help.  He wasn't drunk, but given the bite of that shot, he'd get there sooner than later.

Nanu shrugged, "Done worse on the clock.  You know this."

The other man went pink to his ears, no doubt recalling the circumstances under which they met- not Nanu's finest hour (not his worst either, as things would go, but not his finest).   Nanu returned the flush. He hadn't meant that in literal.

"I suppose I may have noticed," Looker responded without real comment, taking the bottle back when offered and going for another swig.

They trade off shots over the silent walk towards Tapu Village.  Malie City had a hotel that Nanu probably ought to take him to, but it was one of those many facets of Alola that existed just for tourists- terrible and overpriced.  The Tapu Village motel was cheap and the owners good people, the walk was worth bringing them some business. In his defense, Looker had to know and didn't say anything.

Besides, Nanu knew in the back of his head that the other man needed this.  It had been a long week. He needed a drink, he needed a walk, and he needed to not be alone.  Nanu needed the same damn thing and he planned on ignoring it until he drank himself half to death at the back of the station in three months at the memory.  

It wouldn't be the first time that happened.  Fighting baddies came with its inevitable lows.  Nanu was too stupid in his International Police years to recognize the true implication of those nights where he felt shitty enough to wander downstairs to 836's place and wind up asleep on the couch, blitzed over whatever liquor they could conjure.  Back then, he assumed they were just disasters masquerading as people (which was, to some degree, absolute truth). It took coming to Alola for him to realize that maybe the weekly near-death, the scumbags of the world, and the perpetual adrenaline rush might lead to a psychological imbalance of some form or fashion, and maybe that imbalance would rear its ugly head whenever he caught a break.

Either way, Nanu had been out of the game a decade and shelving a ten-year old tragedy by charging it headlong was gonna have side effects.  He needed the walk as much as Looker, and the company twice as bad. Despite all his fuckups, big and small, 836 had never been bad company. The Looker incarnation wasn't half bad either.

"I must say, this is one mission I never expected to repeat," he finally spoke, as they sat in the dirt for a breath after route 12.  Route 12 sucked without a mudsdale. 000 could have fired up his ride pager and gotten them one, but technically the service pokemon didn't deal with drunks and technically it was an abuse of his Kahuna privilege to ask them to.  

The last half mile blurred into memory before it started. Nanu polished off the bottle after realizing he struggled with the rocks in his old age.  Looker was old too, he guessed since math alluded him. The agent was struggling himself.

"Of all the loose ends we got to tie," Nanu agreed, "Didn't think it'd be fucking Guzzlord."

Looker flopped on his back, staring up at the night sky, "We did finish up the Team Galactic incidents after you departed."

Nanu joined him.  Why the hell not. He was drunk and accompanying the last person he'd ever want to drink with, and he was enjoying it  (mostly from watching the man faceplant at least twice across Route 12 trying to climb - fucker was getting as old as Nanu).  They could put aside their decade-old vendetta for another hour to watch the stars spin. "Yeah, I know. Shame you couldn't haul in that goon leading them."

Looker shot up and started down at the other man at his comment.

Nanu laughed, glancing over at him, "You think I didn't know every Tapu damned back door into the IP's intranet?"

The agent put his hands on his hips.  "And what are you doing in our internal computer systems?"

"Checking on you all," he chuckled, shutting his eyes, "Can't a man worry about his former colleagues?"

Looker made a 'hmph' noise, "Not you.  You left."

There was a vein of resentment to those words that Nanu didn't expect.  Well, he expected it. He did leave, in a fired argument with the brass that ended in doors slamming and the chief of Supernormal division storming out in a curse-strewn warpath before security could pick him up.  He cleared his apartment less than a day later. He and 836 weren't quite on speaking terms at the time, though, not enough to obligate a goodbye.

Hell, that had been two years of disaster that cleaved the best team in the International Police in two.  Their relationship got more tumultuous with every passing day, even with Looker transfering himself over to Organized Crime (which he sucked at, Nanu noticed the agent back in Supernormal within three months of 000's 'retirement') and giving him a wide berth at the office.  000 would have found another apartment within the year if he'd stayed, just to avoid him in the elevator.

Well no, his place was on rent control.  He'd have found a reason to force 836 into leaving.

The resentment still hit former agent like a sucker punch.  "There was nothing worth staying for," he replied.

"We needed you."

"Bullshit, I barely worked by then."   Which was true. When 000 showed up (not often), he tended to argue in meetings, pile more shit on Anabel because she was the only one worth a damn, and make his way out the door by 16:00.  It was a wonder he hadn't been terminated by the time he did quit.

"I needed you."

"Also bullshit, 836," Nanu called him out, "You were the best field agent in the International Police by then.  You didn't need me for shit."

"I needed you for everything.  You are the one and only person in this world that knows everything about me, you are the only person in this world I do not have to pretend some alternative former life with, and you were the only person in the world who _knew what I should do_!" he yelled.  Nanu couldn't tell if it was at himself, or at Nanu, or because at 30-something-40-however-old-he-was-now, Looker still had no concept of 'inside voice'.

"Well, I needed to leave," Nanu shot back, cutting off whatever pity party Looker could try to throw himself.

It was true.

Both sides were true.  He should have stuck around.  They could have put this bitch to bed years ago if he'd kept with it, formed a better plan, and went back for more.  836 wouldn't have fucked it all to hell a second time, that was for damn sure. The first incident served its purpose there.  But he couldn't- he couldn't take the brass, he couldn't take the nightmares, he couldn't take _knowing_ all the bullshit he'd been complicit in over the years.  It didn't matter what he'd accomplished anymore, the path there reaped destruction and Nanu _couldn't_ anymore.  Leaving was the best option.

"I am sorry," Looker mumbled, and Nanu knew the words had nothing to do with his abandonment issues.

"...She wasn't supposed to live," he reminded Looker.  Or himself. One of the two. "The brass knew it. I knew it.  I couldn't figure out why the hell _you_ didn't, but at this point her damn soul has gone cold so it's water under the Tapu-damned bridge."

A minute of quiet settled between them before the other man acknowledged his statement.  "...Why did you go through with the mission without questions if you knew?"

Nanu groaned.  Of course this would be the conversation they'd have- the one he'd staved off for the last decade, hoping to avoid both it and the former colleague in question until he met the same cold fate.  In a cruel irony he didn't, Guzzlord was subdued, and he and good old 836 were too drunk to stand. The perfect storm of circumstances to hold this conversation brewed. "Didn't have much choice, you know this."

It was a lame excuse, but Looker knew the terms of the devil deal he made after the last 'mission' with Org Crime.  000 drank enough to babble the tale at him a few years afterwards, after a close call in Nimbasa City that left the two of them reeling (and three weird geneticists dead, though not without real effort and some buckshot that still floated somewhere under the left side of Nanu's ribcage).  They'd renewed their pact to leave together with a double shot of gin each (and then some).

It was a lame excuse.  Looker called him out on this, "I was willing to make my departure with you.  I did not break my end of our agreement, you broke yours."

"Never meant for it to go both ways," the Kahuna admitted, "Figured you'd wanted out of it by then anyway."

"Well, after the first encounter with the Ultra Beasts, I cannot disagree with that sentiment," he huffed, "...I would have departed with you up until the night before."

Silence prevailed.  Looker saw through his bullshit, just as expected.  It didn't fool anyone. It certainly didn't fool Nanu and never would.  The truth was ugly. Neither wanted to face it; Nanu spent the last decade avoiding it.

The truth exploded before Nanu could collect his thoughts on the matter.  "Because I thought we were fucking invincible, you fucking fool. We never failed a mission.  Caught every fucking suspect. Saved the world a Tapu-damned thousand times after you joined up.  The brass waltzes into my office, orders me to take the agent-in-training with us to fight a monster that can consume a fucking building?   Sure, why not! We'll wrap up this bitch and all get a fun vacation out of it! Because we were 000 and 836! That's how it all fucking went!"

It occurred to him after he ran out of breath that he'd raised his voice, and Looker was sitting up up again, staring at him.  Nanu closed his eyes to avoid the other man's concerned gaze. "Then you went and missed the only shot that mattered, and the only thing you could babble at me after we ran for our own fucking sorry lives was that you felt pity for the fucking thing.  Not for the teammate it ate."

"Of course I was upset about that!  Are you really in some sort of state of disbelief that the exact moment, that exact mistake, does not run through my mind every time I am still for even a moment?!" Looker retorted, shouting a bit and waving his arms, "Did you believe I did not comprehend what I had done the second it transpired, and was somehow not aware the consequences were _entirely_ my fault?!  You owed an immediate explanation to command and had a death to atone for, I couldn't walk away and leave you without any reasoning to present to them!  Phrasing my logic for the transgression was not exactly a simple matter at that moment!"

Nanu didn't reply to that for a few minutes.  After a decade, the whole memory blurred over.  He couldn't remember the details to 836's half-hearted explanations of his failure, babbling and cowering farther and farther away as 000 went redder.  At some point his words went full Kalosian, but Nanu had never been sure if that was reality or the product of a thousand other memories pasting themselves into the pieces he'd lost.  Either way, _overwhelmed_ didn't scratch the surface for what he'd been after that mission.

"...I should have fucking realized," Nanu admitted, "I know. I wasn't fucking thinking either."

"That I realized, you tried to fight over it," the recollection came loaded with disdain.

836's babbled apology ended when 000 couldn't take it anymore and threw a punch, in broad daylight, right in the middle of Seafolk Village.  The rage boiled over his eyes and he needed 836 to _shut the fuck up_ , and… he'd been a dumbass.  "...Yeah, I did."

 _Overwhelmed_ didn't scratch the surface for either of their mental states.

"And in the atrium of the headquarters building."

"You started that one," Nanu pointed out. He _had_ , a week later, after 000 dragged his ass back to Saffron and into the office (late and still drunk from the night before, as was the case for most of the days following the incident).  If the two weren't key in an active investigation, security would have thrown them both outside on their asses to work it out elsewhere.

The agent in question huffed at the reminder.  "You called me some hateful things."

Nanu had run his mouth.  He couldn't remember much of his last few days in Alola or the first few days back in his apartment.  He couldn't even remember what he'd called 836 in the atrium that morning, though it was something inflammatory and probably a snide reference to the agent's unfortunate checkered history.  The fight itself was the first moment of clarity, accompanied by a cracked rib and a formal warning.

"Tensions were high.  And you fucking sucker punched me, we're square," he decided unilaterally.  Fighting with 836 was a joke. The man could upended 000 in two shots. Looker still could, "Besides, you kicked my ass the first time too."

"...Yes, I suppose in light of that we are fair," he grumbled.  

"...Throwing me off the dock didn't help me not hate you, for the record."

"My most sincere apologies," Looker replied dryly.

'Tensions were high' might have been the understatement of this century. Nanu could remember being furious before Looker's stupid rational came out of his mouth- not upset, not distraught.  Just angry. They were 000 and 836, Supernormal Field Operations of the International Police. They never fucking failed, not when they worked together. 836 pulled it through every Tapu-damned time.

On his own, yeah, 000 had been sort of a useless sack of shit and he knew it.

On his own he was the sort of useless sack of shit that got agents in training killed.

836 was only human. He couldn't be on point facing death, at least not every time 000 expected it of him.  And the Tapu only knew, he didn't have a good grasp on speaking even when everything was peachy. He'd improved over the last decade, which was saying something.  He'd always been softer than 000 though and didn't keep as many vices at his disposal for coping. The faller's death would have hit him four times as hard.

"...We were both fucked up right after that," he realized, aloud, if Looker wanted to partake the revelation, "Couldn't pull ourselves together, not for anything meaningful.  Not for a Tapu-damned plan B, not for a fucking report, not for a fucking conversation. We both got… hit with shock, I guess."

Looker made another hmph noise.  Nanu opened his eyes to glance back over, and he'd laid down again, arms crossed.

"And the fucked up part is that I've been waiting around a decade to hear it out of you, when all that shit was obvious and all I am is an ass for making you say it," he admitted with a groan, his stomach twisting around the combination of idiocy and booze, "Guess I'm still fucked."

"...Disposing of Guzzlord this time didn't fix it," Looker whispered.

The Kahuna shrugged, watching constellations blur together. He didn't know any of them, though he felt like this was in the realm of things a Kahuna should know.  Hala knew them or at least he knew how to make them up as he went along. One of the ones out this time of year was alleged to be crabrawler, that could be the brighter blurry one. "Didn't expect it to.  Just needed those things _gone_ , that's why I had the other two let the International Police operate here at all.  Sure as shit didn't expect them to send Anabel."

He'd knocked his keyboard off his desk when he saw that mission report.  The damned brass wanted to try the same exact plan as last time, with a better faller and an agent fucked in the head from the first round.  Never mind that the latter had no active team these days to defend them with, that wasn't important. At the time, he'd wanted to be mad at Looker about that one too, even though he had no control over these things.  He was still a damned grunt.

"I wish they had not," Looker admitted, "I made every attempt to convince her to turn this mission down."

"Only so much you can do, she's headstrong," the other man admitted, "Shouldn't have ragged on you about that either."

He huffed again, "I did make an attempt to fix the situation."

"You did.  I'll give you that.  Wish you'd have moved up from grunt, you'd have found a better way to do this shit," Nanu grumbled.  He should have pulled his ass out of the field years ago, and Nanu knew it was because he didn't want to.  His track record was otherwise flawless.

"Non, I like field work," the agent replied, "I would be terribly bored working in the office the majority of the time like the chiefs, and Intel or something of the like would be even worse.  This is at least an exciting scope of work and keeps me moving around often...I do not like this kind of mission so much, though, non."

"Guess I should give you props for being able to stick with it," Nanu shrugged, before adding, "...Not taking you with me wasn't the worst outcome for the world."

"As I said, I would not have wanted to join you."

"Shoulda given it the good old college try, for old times sake," he ran his hand through his hair, "I was too fucked up to give a damn what happened to you."

His exact thoughts had been along the lines of '836 could rot in the hell he'd created for himself'.  Nanu decided that was best left unmentioned. Looker got the idea without the gritty details.

The other man stayed quiet for a moment, before responding to the statement.  "That was perhaps the worst part about when you prematurely retired. You always made talk like we would move onto some other existence together.  We would start a new life that was just the two of us somewhere far away. When you left without warning, it became very clear that we would never repair any hostility between us and that part of my life would be… gone."

'Part of his life' seemed an egregious description, but it was more than Looker's dramatic use of language and Nanu knew it.  They'd been a constant in each other lives, from the day Looker cut him off that chair in Team Rocket's makeshift dungeon.

"...yeah, well, I wanted it over," the former agent admitted bluntly, "At the time, anyway. Made a rash decision to get it and then got to live with the consequences."

"Do you hold any regret for it ever?"  Looker asked, his voice laden with some sort of hopefulness that made Nanu's gut wrench.

He regretted leaving Looker, yeah, but that might have been the alcohol his liver wanted to take its sweet time processing.  The constellations all looked like ditto at this point. That was enough liquor to make him feel regret.

The last eight years of checking up on all his missions weren't related, not at all.

"For leaving the International Police, nah," the Kahuna huffed after a moment (maybe two).  He tried to sit up, but gravity overwhelmed him. Waaay too much to drink. "Couldn't take it anymore.  ...Shouldn't've left the way I did, though. Shouldn't've left you. I was fucked up. Still am, I guess."

He could blame his liver for the honesty.  Tomorrow. Maybe. He'd been keeping that truth to himself for eight years now, who knew it took four-fifths of vodka to lose track of it (most of four-fifths, Looker had to have drunk at least some).

"Yes, perhaps," the other man agreed, "But you are also…"

His voice trailed off.  Nanu glanced over again.  "A moron?"

Looker sat up and shot him a glare.

Of the things Nanu wasn't in the mood to do, interpret Looker's drunken expressions sat high on the list, almost next to this entire conversation.  He supposed he owed the man a bit of humoring though. "Inconsiderate, particularly to you?"

"You… are... s… o…" he pronounced.

_Oh._

Oh that ass.  "I. Am. Sorry.  Yes, no shit I'm sorry, fool!  Figured that was obvious!"

Looker shoved him.  "Oh obvious, you say," his tone had no bite to it.

It was juvenile, uncalled for, and egregiously unnecessary, but Nanu shoved him back, "All right, all right, the both of us can't read minds and can't share our thoughts even worse.  What a shocker. Shoulda been obvious from that time you thought I was taking you hostage in my apartment."

The other man let out a genuine laugh at the memory.  "I had never been so afraid in my entire life until that point.  Even moreso than when I had to tell Giovanni I would not accompany him into his escape."

"Seriously?" Nanu's turn came to sit up and stare, "And you hung around for what… two weeks?  The fuck is wrong with you?"

"I had made a huge mess and didn't know how to repair it.  It was a nicer way to take my punishment for everything, admittedly.  You always had dinner when you came home," he pointed out.

The other man cocked an eyebrow, "You had an entire line of thinking in there about me using you for sex, that can't have been 'nicer'."

"Ack, I had forgotten about that exchange," Looker went bright red, enough to be visible even in the light of the half-quarter-two-fifths-of-a-gibbous-whatever moon.  He waved off the conversation. "Of all of the things for you to remember..."

"Shit, out of the shit I do remember about that week, that one still has some fucking clarity," Nanu snorted, shutting his eyes again, "Spent the whole Tapu-damned week stressing out about what the fuck I was going to do with you, and then you just dropped that somewhere after 'hostage'."

"It was a reasonable explanation."

"You aren't wrong.  Just, didn't realize it at the time," Nanu shrugged, staring up at the moon.

"Everything had become a little 'fucked up', as you would say.  I was not thinking clearly about the situation," he paused a moment before adding, "That is the only other time you have ever apologized to me."

"I don't make a habit of it," Nanu admitted, "Can't take back shit that's already happened."

The words rolled off his tongue before he realized how much weight they carried in the conversation in question.  He'd drank too much. Booze always made him thoughtless (moreso than he already was). He could have phrased that better, or not responded at all.

Not responded at all would have been the smarter path.

"I realize," Looker whispered, shifting a bit.

There was no taking back his dumbass mouth, either.  Without thinking (way too much booze, Nanu couldn't remember the last time he drank liquor, let alone half a handle), he grabbed at the dark next to him.  His missed his target by about six inches, instead jabbing the other man in the side, but eventually found Looker's hand and… rested his on it. Nanu wasn't sure what he was doing- something comforting and arguably human.

"It wasn't your damn fault, fool.  You fucked up, like a million agents did on a million missions and will do until the end of the International Police itself.  The brass didn't care if she lived through it, plain and simple," he reminded him, squeezing his hand and forgetting he ought to let go, "I should've left her with Hala when we got here."

There was a noise that sounded like a sniffle, and Nanu gave the other man the dignity of shutting his own damn eyes and not confirming.   His eyes might have started watering a bit themselves. This whole drunken grieving experience might have been called for ten years ago and they might be assholes for putting it off until now.

Neither of them knew how grieving was supposed to work, but laying around in the dirt while drunk and not hating each other seemed like a good start.  At some point, Looker's hand twitched, and for a moment, Nanu decided it was best to let go. Maybe that was enough intimacy for two people who hated each other.

Looker's hand turned so he could weave his fingers between Nanu's.  After a moment of hesitation, he shuffled himself closer. The breath Nanu held released into the night, and he leaned until the top of his head rested against the other man's shoulder.  He hated the admittance, but it had been too long since he'd brushed this close to another person.

It had been even longer since he brushed this close to another person worth being around.

They both stared up at the night sky in silence, watching nocturnal clouds cover constellations of ditto and sniffling on occasion.  Neither spoke anymore, too drunk or exhausted or some combination of the two to risk saying something meaningful. Neither wanted to say anything unmeaningful, it was a waste of energy. Besides, Looker deserved his quiet sobbing in the dark without Nanu running his mouth and ruining it for once.  The Kahuna could hold his hand quietly, and pretend not to sniffle himself.

At some point, it occured to Nanu that he dozed off and the other man had started snoring instead of sniffling.

"C'mon fool," he nudged the agent, "We probably ought to not spend the night out here."

Nanu could imagine the ass chewing Hala would attempt if he found out the Ula'ula Kahuna was caught sleeping drunk outside somewhere again.  He supposedly kicked that habit a few years ago. No reason for anyone to think it resurfaced.

The agent jolted upright, "I was not asleep."

"Right, you just snore while awake with your eyes shut," Nanu chuckled, "I forgot about that 'habit'."

"Heavy breathing, I am quite tired myself," he insisted, letting go of the other man and pulling himself out of the dirt.  "But yes, I agree, we need to find suitable lodging."

Nanu squeezed his hand, feeling the ghostly reminder of the last hour.  He didn't have to remember for long, it turned out. Looker offered a hand up and then failed to let go once he was off the ground.  The path spun a bit around them, it took a few fumbling steps for the two to get going. In light of that, Nanu saw no reason to let go lest one of them fall on their face.

They kept their fingers firmly entangled on the rest of the walk to the motel.  Looker checked himself in with the night clerk while Nanu lingered outside, the railing keeping him up right. Even as two fucked up old men, they could get the job done.  The consequences were messy, but things worked out in the end, or at least as much as they could. UB-05 was gone, he and 836 went back on speaking terms, and the world kept spinning.  Capturing Guzzlord didn't fix a damn thing, but at least they didn't hate each other and nobody got thrown off a dock. Nanu had been drunk before and would be drunk again.

"One room left," Looker yawned as he walked out of the office, "A stroke of luck for me.  Is your abode far? I can walk you back before I retire."

Nanu shook his head.  The fool would be dead on his feet on the way there.  If he did make it, he'd balk about the fact Nanu lived in the Po Town police station, because fuck rent, and that would take a solid twenty minutes and energy the Kahuna didn't have.  "Another half hour or so of a hike."

It would take more to the effect of two hours given how much the world spun and how much vodka his liver didn't want to deal with.

"...Perhaps it would be best if you stayed for a bit and sobered," Looker suggested, pointing towards the room he'd been assigned, "It is not long until daylight anyway, we can find a movie to watch in the meantime."

"Yeah, I'd appreciate that," Nanu admitted.  The booze and the heartfelt conversation hit him hard- he was exhausted.  Hell, he'd be tired even if he wasn't drunk. It had to be at least four in the morning.  The Kahuna might be nocturnal but this pushed it.

Somewhere in the twenty feet to Looker's motel room, they silently agreed that neither gave a shit about watching a movie or Nanu leaving at dawn or anything else.  Looker didn't even make an effort to turn the TV on after he folded his coat and Nanu's uniform shirt over a chair. They climbed into the bed and dozed off, hands intertwined again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, have a short chapter. 
> 
> I went back and forth between making this chapter really long, putting in two short chapters and then a reasonable one, or making this chapter short and the next one absurdly long, and then concluded this deliberation is a good discussion point to bring up with my therapist next week. Let's not talk about the car I need to buy before the knockoff toyota just doesn't turn on.


	9. Side Effects of the International Police

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu catches up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Filler. The mentions of everything else dark that's previously happened in this fic. Some more references to Nanu's unspoken drinking problems. Hangover sick. Platonic bedsharing.

****"Kid, gettof," 000 grumbled, elbowing 836 in the stomach and trying to ignore the raging hangover.  They drank _way_ too much last night, again- a typical mission with team 000/836.  836 had dozed off on top of him, again, and had gone full tentacool around him.  Again.

One of these days, 000 would have to have _that_ talk.  Despite no better options, they weren't dating.  They weren't even fucking. Passing out in not his own Tapu-damned bed wasn't a substitute for any of the dates 836 refused to ride out until dinner ended.  And the Tapu knew, 000 was too much of a miserable dumbass to tell him to get the fuck out of his bed. Shit felt harmless until the morning, when it became _unhealthy_.  

Another fucking fine side effect of life as an IP agent- so starved for interpersonal contact cuddling with a teammate seemed like a reasonable enough alternative.

If they caught a break today, the chief was gonna hold _that talk_.

First, 836 needed to move his ass so 000 could shower and get on with the mission. Well, he'd shower once he remembered what city they were in, anyway.  Supernormal sent them to every end of the globe. The locales blended together after a while, the motel rooms doubly so. Mornings after too much booze always turned into a game of 'pick up the pieces collected the previous day and figure out how they fit together in the scope of the mission'.

Cripes, how much had he had to fucking drink last night?  They were… they were-

"I am willing to forgive you on most transgressions, Nanu, but if you resume to referring myself as 'kid', I will have to renege on them.  I am _forty_ now," Looker grumbled, releasing his sleep induced death grip and rolling off him.

They were in Tapu Village, Nanu drank half the night after finding Looker at the dock, and the Tapu only knew what time it was.

UB-05 was no more.

And Nanu very much needed to throw up, because he hadn't drank like that in a few years.

"Fuck…" he cursed at himself, stumbling out of bed and into the bathroom as fast as his hangover would let him.  He made it to the toilet just in time, his sushi from dinner coming back up under the influence of too much cheap vodka.

Looker leaned into the doorway after he finished retching, half-alive himself.  His fingers sandwiched the bridge of his nose and his eyes refused to open, lest he subject himself to the crap fluorescence.  "I, for one, am far too old to drink in such a manner."

"Likewise," Nanu mumbled, resting his head on the lip of the toilet, "You remember last night?"

The IP agent hesitated for a few seconds before responding. "...I do.  Do you not?"

"Nah, I do.  Just checking," he shrugged.  They'd agreed to forgive each other, he needed confirmation that still held before the morning got awkward.  Waking up in the same bed had never felt as awkward as it should have, but there was a first time for everything.  Waking up in the same bed loathing the other would do the trick.

The other man cracked an eye, his need to make polite eye contact conflicting with a hangover migraine, "I am going to peruse the vending machine before I lose the will to continue standing.  Is there something you would like?"

"Any kind of sports drink," Nanu requested in misery.  He was too old for this shit. Hala would have some words to say if he discovered his colleague before hangovers-end.  Less words than if he'd found the two asleep on Route 12, but words nonetheless.

Looker chuckled, "As expected."

"Haven't changed much," he shrugged, before a second wave of nausea hit him.  Looker excused himself, leaving Nanu some privacy to be sick in peace. Though he'd never cared before, he came off as an absolute mess right now and it felt embarrassing.  This wasn't a good second first impression.

At least he wasn't bleeding and nobody duct taped him to anything.  This had to make a better impression than the first go around.

He still looked like a mess.

By the time Looker returned with two bottles of neon blue salvation, Nanu had at least washed his face and thrown his uniform shirt over his shoulders.  Looker acted the gentleman and popped the cap off for him, nor said anything when half dribbled down his shirt in the process of gulping it (critical error, it made him nauseated a second time- the other man was smarter and sipped his).

"You got old and you still don't get hangovers," Nanu pointed out with a tinge of envy.  One of 836's many superpowers, after he got into the swing of IP life, was the ability to drink his boss (and the rest of the department, but it was _Supernorm_ ) under the table.  000 spent more than a few nights passed out on his couch, victim of an attempt at shot-for-shot.

"I have one, but not the near scale of yours," Looker informed him, "I am bigger, if you have not noticed.  That helps."

Nanu stretched, his bones creaking as they did.  Cripes, he'd gotten too old to be the victim of Looker's sleep constrict much like he'd gotten too old to drink like a dumbass. "Oh, I noticed, think you slept on my arm."

"Ah, my apologies.  You were comfortable."

"I'm bony as hell, I don't get why you think that," he pointed out, downing the rest of his drink.

Looker shrugged, "It always was."

"I set a damn bad presidence letting you get away with this shit," he grumbled, though he shot his snide grin with it.

"You did?  Pardon my failing memory, but I recall you falling asleep on my couch the majority of the times," the agent reminded his former supervisor.

"Yeah well, you lived on a lower floor than I did.  You were closer to the bar," Nanu retorted. "First time, _I_ let _you_ though."

In a closet turned prison.

Back when the man was a dopey Rocket Grunt teenager.

Who'd been beaten to hell and back by his lover.

Looker bit his lip and averted his eye contact to the floor.  If Nanu could have kicked himself, he would have. They'd talked on and off about Giovanni a handful of times over the years, with varying levels in lack of detail on Looker's part and usually after a bad nightmare spell.  The explanation not long after they first met proved to be the best answer Nanu would get on the subject.

After ten years of finally speaking again, Nanu _had_ to put his foot straight through any good relations they could be on.  Bulu help his subconscious not maintain the status quo through any means necessary.  "...I should probably get out of here."

It wasn't an apology, but at the very least, it was true.  A motel room with an International Police agent wasn't where the Kahuna wanted to be found if somebody needed him.  He hadn't been this particular brand of dumbass in over a decade and he didn't look forward to explaining.

"I will walk you back," Looker replied, collecting his breath.  Nanu had half a mind to tell him not to bother. He shouldn't bother, really.  They said their peace and then some. No point in dragging this out another hour.

Instead of declining, Nanu gave him a noncommittal shrug.  No point in arguing with the man, either. He was an adult.  In any case, this wasn't a debate the Kahuna had the mental fortitude for.  836 always acted the gentleman come hell or high water.

His thoughts were better put to determining when best to tell him they'd be going to the Po Town Police Station, anyway.

-

They didn't hold hands on the walk to the station, minus when Looker tripped over some rocks climbing around the beach and needed to not fall on his ass.  Letting go wrenched at Nanu's stomach, in a different way than the alcohol. Looker's must have as well, because he stuffed his hands straight into his pockets for the rest of the walk and almost toppled facefirst twice for it.  Nanu took a dive himself thinking about the potential to do so he'd lost (forever).

His gut twisted worse at the thought of saying goodbye once the two reached the station.  The Kahuna of Ula'ula would go about the rest of his day, sleeping off the hangover and chasing away overzealous Island Challengers.  The agent would disappear back into the International Police. The two would have no reason to contact the other again.

As much as he hated to admit it, the last twelve hours with Looker had been comforting, in an old t-shirt sort of way.

"...Do you have to go back to work?" Looker asked in confusion as Nanu opened the door to the station.  A dozen or so meowth roused themselves and stared at the two men, one of whom took a long, indiscrete step back at the herd in front of him.  "Surely they can provide you with a day off…"

"Well, I'm Kahuna, don't really get a day off from that," Nanu reminded him.  With any mercy from Tapu Bulu (...the wrong Tapu for the matter but the best the Ula'ula Kahuna could do), no one would have an emergency today.  Challengers could wait until tomorrow, but citizens in general need were hard to procrastinate on without Bulu getting pissy. "...But, sort of living here these days, so I may as well go back to work."

"AH, I see," he poked his head in to survey the setup.  The look across his face spelled 'oh dear', even if he kept that sentiment to himself.

Nanu's shirts hung along the privacy screen behind the desk, long dry after last week's wash. The couch still had his blanket and pillow on it, from where he'd been sleeping for the past… three years, maybe four at this point.  At least he didn't have a mound of empty beer cans next to the trash; Bulu help him if Looker saw the place four years ago.

Four years ago, Nanu might not have invited him in.

The what-if game was a bunch of bullshit and he shook it out of his head.

"Cheaper than getting a place, I'm here all the time anyway," the Kahuna shrugged, gesturing for Looker to come the hell in.  The meowth swarmed his ankles, eager to greet the newcomer.

He shuffled behind in an attempt not to trample on them.  It was an exercise in futility, Nanu knew this from experience.  If they wanted to be less trampled, they'd behave. "Industrious, I suppose."

The Kahuna couldn't read his tone, which was odd for a man that wore his emotions on his sleeve.

"Just don't tell Malie City PD about it, we all pretend I don't do this," he informed the other man, wandering around to the back of his desk for pokemon food.  The meowth would want to be fed sooner than later.

Looker snorted a laugh.  "Are all the officers here sufficiently fearful of reporting you?"

The sound of the food bag opening distracted the meowth swarm from Looker's feet, allowing him to safely enter the station and shut the door without a clipped tail.  

"Nah, it's just me.  Nobody else wants the Po Town beat," Nanu explained while he poured out a few bowls of food, batting away the more anxious pokemon in the process, "The Skull kids cause problems and nobody else can deal with 'em."

"Ah yes, the delinquent bunch that have been running about," Looker noted, draping his coat over the arm of the couch and sitting down.

"They're a bunch of bored teenagers.  Nothing to really worry about… unless you're Alolan and not used to real trouble."  

The two had seen a lot worse than some bored kids causing grief.  It took a year or so of being back on Alola for Nanu to comprehend that his experience with the world was… abnormal. In comparison to pocket dimensions, evil deities, and genetic engineering the monster of the future, kids with spray paint cans and bad attitudes still failed to register as a concern.

"Yes, I suppose that does result in somewhat of a difference in opinion."

"Surprised none of them were waiting for me.  By this time of day, somebody ought to need a few stitches or help getting down from a tree," he noted, letting out his own team for lunch.

Absol ran to Looker, for once foregoing food. He sneezed into his old buddy's lap in excitement.  Sableye gave the agent a precursory acknowledgement glance before taking the rock Nanu offered it.  The rest of his team were new since Nanu's arrival in Alola. They gave Looker the same disregard they gave the Skull kids.

"I do not think I could help you climb a tree right now," Looker admitted, giving Absol a pat before the pokemon tore off to find a tennis ball.  836 had been his fetch partner; they had ten years to make up. Absol would insist on it well past sundown. "My apologies, but you may be on your own if that befalls you today."

"I'm used to it enough," Nanu carried the stack of food bowls away from his desk (lest the pokemon scatter all his work in the process of stuffing themselves, "It's either I get 'em down though or I patch up broken ankles.  Lose-lose situation."

"I suppose this is a good point," Looker responded, before adding,  "...Do you not find this arrangement somewhat… boring?"

The question came as something of a surprise to Nanu.  He hadn't thought about it much in terms of boredom. Nothing happened on Alola, but he knew this before he boarded the plane home.  "All the time," he admitted with a smile, "Kinda enjoy it these days. I think real excitement would kill me."

He'd been a mess of a person when he left the IP.  He'd been a mess of a person his first year or so on Alola.  The cop job sucked some days, yeah. But, it gave Nanu a reason to put the bottle down, get off the couch, and have some interaction with the world- the normal world, where crime lords didn't try to clone mythical beings and the guy selling custom pokeballs didn't harbor plans to conquer the world.

"Ah, come now. You handled Guzzlord with more finesse than myself or Anabel."

"Once isn't another lifetime of close calls," he reminded the agent, "Besides, can't wait to see what nightmares I'll get from this one."

Looker was quiet for a minute before responding, "...So you are afflicted with them as well."

"Cripes, yeah. Never slept at night much to begin with, so it's not as bad as it could be," he shrugged, "Can't believe you lived with them so long back in the day."

"I would not wish them on anyone," Looker shuddered.

This line of conversation needed to abort.  The nightmares were one side effect of his IP days, yeah, but it was the manageable one.  He could get by with a little less sleep than usual. Drinking away the boredom, sizing up the grocery store patrons, and constantly looking over his shoulder for a shooter… those had been the hard part.  He opted for cracking a grin and making a joke, "Gives me an excuse to nap, not the worst."

"I suppose that is reasonable," Looker admitted, his own grin masking the previous concern, "You did enjoy taking nap breaks on missions."

Nanu gave him a half hearted elbow nudge as he sat down, leaving the pokemon to eat.  They had their heart-to-heart last night, that was enough sharing their inner demons for one lifetime.  "Not like we didn't have the time to goof off. We always had our shit together."

"This is true," the other man sighed, "It is much harder doing these alone."

On second thought, there were a few more demons to beat out of Looker.  Even at the worst of times, the Brass didn't approve that many solo jaunts, not with their best agent at stake.  He'd started to tally it up after the death report. Looker was on his own more than any other agent in IP history.  "...Makes me nervous to see you out on solos all the time."

"It would be a waste of resources to send two agents, I can accomplish the work on my own."  His argument sounded rehearsed. He'd had this conversation with the Brass already. It was, as Nanu suspected, intentional.

Another fine side effect.

"Wish you wouldn't," the Kahuna responded, shaking his head, "Shit's dangerous."

"I will be fine." He let the subject drop as the herd of meowth finished eating and resumed swarming the pair.

Nanu would tackle this one at some later point, with Anabel involvement.  The new chief seemed to have a handle on his brand of stubborn, it'd be more effective than half-assed therapy with his old boss. She'd keep him on a safer course even if he protested.

"Do you have a power cable I could borrow?" Looker asked, picking a meowth off his shoulder and trying to shake another off his calf.  "It has been dead since last night and I'm sure Anabel is worried."

"Yeah, lemme grab one," he nudged some of the swarm away with his foot to stand, "Just ignore them."

"This is… quite the menagerie," Looker crouched down to pet one, only to find another attempt to climb his arm.  "I never pictured you as the type for so many animals."

"They're strays for the most part, I never kick 'em out." There were two usb chargers in the drawer above the cat food one, underneath three half filled boxes of staples, the missing good scissors (as opposed to the missing bad scissors that probably met an early end at the Shady House), and several of sets of Acerola's sticky note animations. Nanu grabbed both, since his phone had died as well and he'd just been enjoying it. "Couple of them are Persian's, she'll get feisty if you kick one of those."

Persian gave Looker a precursory sniff before flopping over onto his feet, dead weight.  Sableye climbed into his lap with the remains of its rock, perching on his knee. It hadn't quite figured out cuddling, still.  It got the basic idea over the years from Croagunk and then the meowth, but the motion didn't come from natural instinct.

"Quite the menagerie," he noted, scratching Sableye behind where its ears theoretically were, "...Croagunk would have loved this."

"Yeah, he would have," Nanu sat down next to him and plugged the usb chargers into the wall by the edge of the couch, before passing the longer cable to Looker, "...I'm sorry about what happened."

"...It was not you," Looker shrugged, petting Sableye, who watched the man as it finished its lunch, "I am sorry too."

"I feel like I should have been there for at least that," Nanu admitted.  That was the one time he consciously regretted quitting. The death report popped up and his heart broke into pieces he didn't know it could.  'I'm sorry for not being there' didn't close to encompass the regret.

The other man didn't respond to the sentiment.  Half-assed therapy with his old boss wouldn't communicate the emotion and Nanu couldn't do it on his own now that they were sober.  He regretting some things, Looker knew that from last night. Best to let that subject die off too, just as his phone came back to life and illuminated with the missed messages of the night:

Three missed calls from Anabel.

One text from Anabel, asking if he'd seen Mr. Looker anywhere.

One voicemail Nanu would never go through the headache of accessing, from Anabel, probably detailing the same.

One email from the Ula'Ula Precinct Headquarters in Malie City: Prospected missing person, though filed prematurely so no reason for Officer Nanu to get excited about it yet.  Just keep an eye out when he's out on rounds.

Looker's phone _exploded_ not a few seconds later.

"Oh dear…" he muttered, flipping through his alerts, "She will not be pleased with me."

"I'll call her," Nanu said, already dialing.  He could smooth this out better than Looker, with less diatribing himself into a corner.

"Ack, you do not-"

"Hey missy," he greeted as he ignored the IP agent.

"Mr. Nanu!  There you are!" Anabel held the tone of a member of the International Police who hasn't slept in quite a few hours.  The Kahuna felt a bit more than guilty for making her nervous. She deserved a vacation, not babysitting her sometimes idiotic subordinate.  "Please listen, Mr. Looker didn't return to his hotel room last-"

"Yeah, he's with me, don't worry about it," Nanu cut her off, "Sorry, got sloshed and both our phones died."

"I- what?"

Looker dropped his head into his hands.  Sableye slunk out of his lap, wary of an impending bear hug.  He'd been victim to enough of those in the past to sense their potential arrival, and unlike Croagunk, had negative interest in that kind of affection.  Nanu was a bit surprised it paid Looker any mind, since it gave familiar visitors the same interest it gave missing trainers.

"Didn't mean to make you panic.  Would've had him throw his on if I figured you'd be watching him," he elaborated as the other man outstretched his hand in demand of the phone. "Here, I'll put him on."

As soon as Nanu dropped the phone into his hand, Looker jerked it to his ear and promptly trapped him behind the charging cable.  "Yes, good morning Chief. Or afternoon. It is afternoon already, is it not? The time has perhaps slipped past and- A bit of hangover, but otherwise fine.  ...No, I am fine. ...No, no, I do not need a 'pick up' as you say. I will be on my way once my phone charges-"

"And maybe a cup of coffee," Nanu chimed in.  He could use the coffee now that he'd hydrated, might as well offer the rest of the pot.

"Yes, and a cup of coffee. ...No, I assure you, I am fine."

"I didn't throw him into a gulch, Anabel," Nanu chimed in, making Looker go red, "Just drinking."

"...yes, I will call on you later on sometime this evening.  I assure you, everything is fine," he repeated. Anabel must have assumed some kind of worst, though it left Nanu to wonder what the IP chief believed he would _do_.  "Do enjoy your afternoon."

With that he hung up and put the phone on the coffee table, head in his hands.  "I think she believes I'm being held hostage."

"I wouldn't be that dumb," Nanu laughed, standing, "Not a second time anyway.  Still take your coffee with the french vanilla creamer?"

Hopefully, the agent hadn't changed.  Nanu had a more than a few cases to distribute since ten years hadn't been long enough to stop instinctively buying the shit.  No one else liked it.

"Ah, yes, please.  Er, no sugar these days.  I have been told to consume less sugar."  

"I'm sure that's been no small feat," Nanu chuckled to himself as he put a pot on.  That advice had to have come less from a medical source and more everyone forced to work with the man.

In the end, the two passed out on the couch in front of some cop drama, coffee untouched, until late in the evening.  Nanu threw a frozen pizza in the oven while Looker alerted Anabel that he would not return that night either, and no need to alert the entire Alolan police force this time.  The ferry had already left. They both neglected to remember that Looker could use Nanu's ride pager. In the end, the two ate pizza, complained at more inaccurate television, and idly played with the meowth (and Persian, who took up a home across Looker's lap).  Nanu got him set up on a pullout on the other side of the station (he'd had the wisdom to get two futons years ago, when Guzma's family situation soured and the teen wound up asleep in the station more often than not).

The distance felt strange, which in itself felt even stranger.  

They'd spent a decade apart.  Even then, they'd had some semblance of their own living spaces.  Last night marked the break in Nanu's eightish year streak of never sharing a bed with anyone (...eight seemed too long a time but he hadn't since returning to Alola). Nothing could make it any more normal aside from sending Looker back to Mele Mele, which wouldn't happen.

The question of _why_ went up in smoke after about five minutes with the lights off.  Both Absol and Persian piled onto the other futon, leaving little room for Looker.  After a few minutes of fruitless shooing, Nanu invited him over and he obliged without a hint of defeat.

-

Failing to leave the station went on for three days.   The first day, Looker bumbled through an excuse of helping Nanu with some work.  Anabel was headed to Konikoni anyway, despite Nanu's warnings that the city was one giant tourist trap.  Looker wouldn't miss a damn thing hanging around Po Town if he really didn't want to explore on his own.

He then _did_ the aforementioned work, much to Nanu's irritation since he hadn't planned on jack shit for that week and somehow rearranging the records cabinets lasted well past Nanu dozing off.  The futon proved to be too complicated for the IP agent to figure out on his own and Nanu sure as shit wasn't getting off the couch to help him, so they wound up back to back for the third night in a row.  Nanu would cut him off the next night.

The second day, Anabel made plans with the two for sushi dinner on Ula'ula and there was no sense in Looker leaving the Island to come back later.  She didn't question when Nanu mentioned he had some rounds to finish up afterwards and if Looker wanted to help he could take the ride Charizard back.  He didn't… the rounds wiped the two out to the point he dozed off on Nanu's futon before any reminder could be given.

There was some honest attempt to sleep on the other side of the station that night, that lasted until 02:30 when _Nanu_ managed to have a screaming nightmare.  Seeing 836's concerned stare after being shaken awake felt like a surreal dream in itself.  Bringing himself back to waking reality took twice as long as usual.

He then realized, when offered the opportunity himself, why Looker failed to talk through any of his nightmares.  A frank discussion about Acerola being eaten by a Guzzlord that no longer existed fell pretty well off the list of things he wanted to hear out of his own mouth.  In fact, he'd rather tell the other man, in detail, about fucking Giovanni in the back of a limo while in downtown traffic when pressed with 'I am awake if you'd like to talk'.

Almost.

Not really.

Honestly, that was horrid and Acerola was right when she complained he was grouchy about wakeups.

Nanu kept that thought to himself and shook his head, focusing on the glass of water Looker brought.  It'd be nice for Looker to not sock him in the face like Nanu probably deserved and storm off for the rest of their live.  He at least… dissipated the residual gut-wrench. Any other night, the Kahuna would pace himself silly and then start the morning rounds a couple hours early.  Instead, the two turned on a crappy late-night horror movie and dozed off well before the ending.

The third day, Nanu gave up the ghost and offered for Looker to stay with him.  The station sucked but it was cheaper than burning money on a hotel room when Looker wasn't much for sightseeing anyway.  Anabel didn't question the arrangement with Nanu, though from the red flush and furious text message typing, she sent Looker her concerns.  They took an extended stroll through the meadow on the way back from picking up Looker's suitcase, because it was right there and it'd be a shame for him to miss it.   The other futon went untouched. Both men passed out cold in front of the television before 22:00, three-quarters of a beer consumed between the both of them.

On the fourth day, they walked back from a late breakfast in Malie City to find a convocation of Alola's finest (and Guzma) in the middle of the station.

"He said he was part of Team Rocket," Plumeria stated at the other three from her perch on Nanu's desk, atop of a stack of papers that might have been important.  He kept few rules with the station, but the highest was to leave his desk alone.

It was also the most oft-ignored, judging by the several missing pairs of scissors.

Nanu scowled, waving her off the desk.  It went ignored in the ensuing commotion, which went up a few decibel levels at the return of their Kahuna.  Bulu knew why his presence prompted that sort of response.

"We trashed him once, we'll trash him again," Guzma countered with all of his usual arrogance, though Sun agreed with him.

"He wasn't _that_ big of a deal," the Champion mirrored with his own brand of self-importance.

As a mental note, Nanu needed to check in with Sun more often.  Now that the Team Skull nonsense had settled and their former leader turned over a new leaf… the champ and Guzma still had no reason to be associates.  Especially now that the Team Skull nonsense settled and the International Police entrusted the care of the Ultrabeasts to the kid while they worked out how to send the damn things _back_.

Moreover, nothing _productive_ came from agreeing with Guzma.  Whatever argument was happening here certainly wasn't productive.  If it had been, this entire argument would be taking place in front of Hala instead, leaving the Ula'ula Kahuna to fall asleep on the couch for the rest of the afternoon.

"Yeah and he had technology that totally swapped the old bat's mansion for…. whatever the fuck that place was," Plumeria pointed out.

Lillie nodded in agreement, visibly struggling to get a word in edgewise.  "He… he said he'd be back."

"Do you kids want to explain what's going on?" Nanu questioned, crossing his arms over the ruckus in his station.

" _I_ said we didn't need to involve you-" Guzma started, waving his arms and almost clipping the top of Sun's head.

"He said he was part of Team Rocket," Plumeria repeated, as if the former Skull boss hadn't listened the first time (not a bad bet, in Nanu's experience), "Team Rocket's a big deal, we get the old man for crap like that.  Plus didn't you say his friend is from the International Police, Sun?"

Looker glared at her and then Sun, huffy.  He was on the worst undercover assignment in International Police history.  The Alola champion had a big mouth. The rest of the Island loved a good gossip.  The IP should have planned for this. It was a Tapu damned miracle (and some vague threats on Nanu's part) that no one divulged Anabel's unfortunate status to her yet.  "I am apart of the International Police, _yes_."

"Well, Team Rocket showed up so you should do some policing," Guzma pointed out, which resulted in a deeper frown out of Looker.  

Team Rocket left a legacy of wannabes and copycats popping in and out of existence. If Nanu had to guess, this copycat was the displaced members of the now defunct Team Skull.  History repeating itself- the punks flocked to Guzma when Bulu struck down the old Kahuna, now a new precocious asshole rose in light of the abdication. Guzma would have a guess.  Once they shuffled Plumeria and the kids out, he and Looker would give the former punk a shakedown and get the real story. Then they could go threaten a teenager within an inch of their life and with a few cautionary tales.  This would all to blow over by tomorrow.

"Team Rainbow Rocket," Lillie corrected, her voice the only one at a _normal_ tone.  Thank the Tapu one member of this little band knew how communication should work. "They referred to themselves as Rainbow Rocket."

The agent stoked his chin, "This is not a group currently on our interest list."

"Well, they seem like they're pretty well established since they dropped a house on… in…" Sun deliberated over the exact description, "instead of… Lillie's mom's place."

 _That_ didn't sound like Team Skull. Nanu cocked an eyebrow as Looker shot him a concerned glance.  Dumbass kids in need of the occasional set of stitches weren't in a position to break into the Aether Island stronghold, much less do whatever weird science shit referenced.

The former chief of Supernormal Division had seen a lot of weird science shit in his day to know where this headed.  After this statement, they'd have to ring up Wickie for a realistic explanation. And then maybe Molyane to translate into terms two old men could understand (Nanu had to admit, he would have killed for a kid like Molyane back in the day… he'd recommend him into the International Police if they weren't terrible and if his last foray with that hadn't ended in destruction).

"The geezer in charge knew what he was doing." Guzma tapped on his head with more force than necessary.  "Way more than the hag."

Lillie scowled at the reference to her mother as such, though she settled for crossing her arms instead of saying anything.  Nanu's stomach turned. As Kahuna, needed to deal with _both_ sides of the Lusamine situation and he knew it, because the hag in question had fucked up several children on her path of righteous destruction.  Just, he'd proven with flying colors he had no aptitude for this shit and with the UB aftermath… it was _easier_ to pawn that responsibility onto Hala.  The Kahuna of Melemele agreed and insisted his colleague take some time for himself when they discussed it.  

Well, before they'd even started discussing it.  Nanu hadn't been thrilled about being treated like broken glass at that Kahuna meeting and being effectively stripped of any extraneous duties for a few weeks.  Considering he went back to Ula'ula to discover Looker drinking on the dock though, he couldn't stay too riled up.

"He called himself Giovanni," Sun clarified, waving his arms in a matter-of-factly way despite comprehending few facts, "He got all the rest of them together and when we beat him he went on some weird rant about being _back_.  He wasn't even from here."

Looker and Nanu stared at each other, bewildered, before the IP agent cracked a grin. Nanu matched it.

"We're going to need to know everything, kid," Nanu told him in his International-Police-chief-tell-me-everything-or-we'll-bury-you tone.  He'd been using it a lot in the last few weeks, he realized, though this time he couldn't even out his one-sided smile to go with it. "You best get yourselves comfortable someplace _other_ than my desk."

Looker nodded in agreement, "In the meantime, I shall prepare the whole of us some coffee."

Long nights were another forgotten side effect of too many years with the International Police.  The best prescription was a little too much caffeine. Looker had always made a real mean double-brew for these sort of occasions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from the dead. Sorry for the unplanned departure, I had a ridiculous stretch of 16 hour days. I'm actually not sure if this circus is technically over, so I'm sort of in a 'post as I find spare time' point. 
> 
> Honestly, this chapter was an excuse to write the vaguely fluffed Looker/Nanu catching up with each other I've never gotten to but often thought about. Plus, I have distinct trouble writing them as two people who would accept they're in a relationship and they should fucking kiss already.


	10. Two Fucked Up Old Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu gets the guy (...and then some).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: NSFW- Badly written PWP. Author has no idea what they are doing. Blow job, hand job, furious making out, mild panic, fleeting body issues, a lot of stopping to bicker. This honestly got out of hand and I cannot be held responsible for my own actions.

****The piles of notes and report printouts threatened to crash down on the International Police agent in the back room of the station when Nanu reappeared with their evening cups of coffee.  Five days later, and the two had compiled every piece of post-Viridian-Incident-Team-Rocket data Looker could access. It was start, even if it wasn't much. Everything tapered off after the Team Aqua/Team Magma fiasco.  By then, Org Crime's funding was reallocated to Extremist Activity and Org Crime lost the their piles of unquestioned cash to throw at chasing the last few admins. They appeared to have put in access controls on all later reports out of spite.

Nanu remembered _that_ particular fiasco well, since he and 836 found their asses in front row seats to how fucking _weird_ Supernorm would be.  One minute they were reviewing notes on some extradimensional Sinnohan shit and laughing at accounting drama.   The next minute the two were downing double-brewed coffee and bashing their heads on the wall over the reanimation of mythical weather monsters.  The Extremist Chief and 000 hated each other from that day forward.

In a few days, Looker would be back to his real life in Saffron, with promises to see what could be requisitioned from Org Crime's Intel without arousing suspicion.   They needed to build a better timeline of everything in _general_ after UB-05, since the former chief had absolutely no knowledge of it and the agent hadn't kept up.  On top of that, they rooted up a few other leads to follow, spread out over the globe. That legwork would have to fall on Looker.  Bulu would strike down the Ula'ula Kahuna if he so much as thought about buying a plane ticket.

Nanu meanwhile had two intolerable scientists from Aether to solicit for better information.  They'd been unhelpful so far. Neither man could much stomach Faba for more than a half hour or so at a clip, and Colress and Looker couldn't be in the same room for that length of time lest they fought (...lest _Looker_ fought, Colress stuck with insulting him).  The informants could be better dealt with solo, when Nanu could shamelessly imply the rage of Tapu Bulu (and failing that, a beating by a Kahuna) on them. Beyond that, his role from here on out would be sifting through their mountains of loose information and sending the agent on the occasional wild, tangent zangoose chase.

"I am sure Intel has more that I cannot currently access," Looker repeated for the nth time that week from where the sea of loose paper kept him trapped against the back wall.

"Gotta be, it goes dead silent as of ten years ago.  Anybody over there think you're cute?" he joked as he navigated between stacks of printouts and hand-written summaries.  They needed a more organized investigation, too. Looker picked up too many of Nanu's old habits and made notes on everything from his actual work notebook to flyers for the community theater production of _Guys and PokeDolls_ to malasada stand napkins.  Considering their base of operations was the Po Town Station's repurposed utility closet, that would fall on Nanu to fix (which… would happen _eventually_ or he'd pay Acerola to do it).

"Please no," the agent snorted a laugh, "but the Chief of Organized Crime owes me several favors and I am technically transferred over to that division these days, so I think it will be not an issue."

"Not Supernorm?"  Nanu assumed he missed the transfer report.  He'd tried to take himself out of the checking-up habit in the last few months.  Eight years of keeping tabs wore him out. Of course, the second he stopped, the IP got involved with Alola and the UB's went amuck. Needless to say, the old checking-up habit would be back on the table as soon as Looker departed.   "And shit, you'd think he'd give you access in that case, _I_ can get to more  reports than you."

"I took some… issues with my last mission that we discussed in great detail. I think there were hurt feelings over the outcomes of that.  I have not had more than basic level intelligence access for two years now," Looker explained as took the offered coffee, "And no, my attendance on this mission was as a favor to Chief Anabel… so she did not attempt this alone."

"You're a good man, Agent Looker," Nanu smirked, sitting beside him and taking a sip of cold coffee.  The burner on his coffee pot sucked. The station would need a new one in honor of this little project.

"Do you believe we will be able to succeed?"  Looker grabbed at the other man's hand, his grip tight.  He'd taken to doing this when he got frustrated (especially after a table smashing incident during a interview-turned-interrogation with Faba).

Nanu didn't have the heart or wherewithal to stop him. The research had been… rougher on Looker's psyche than Nanu first considered.  In retrospect, it wasn't unexpected. The man rarely talked about Giovanni after joining up with the IP. He shied away from the Org Crime guys in the breakroom.  836 genuinely separated from anything to do with Team Rocket ever again and over two decades later, the dust hadn't settled.

He jolted awake twice as much as Nanu in the last few days, which was impossible to hide when they shared the lobby futon.  His temper with everyone but Nanu went short, including Anabel, who'd been avoiding the pair for three days (...the Kahuna gave her half an explanation that vacations never sat well with him, which technically wasn't a lie). He took "stare at the ceiling and breathe" breaks after scrolling through old Team Rocket investigations for more than a half hour at clip, particularly later ones that he would have been in the background of.

"You kidding, 836? As of last week our track record is back at one-hundred percent," the former chief reminded him, albeit sarcastically, "damn straight we will."

Looker rested his cheek against the top of Nanu's head and squeezed his hand, "...I do hope so."

Nanu _should_ have predicted the impending emotional disaster and tried to keep Looker's involvement to a minimum.  It was a double-dose of 'too much to cope with.' UB-05 might have been gone, but their 'capture the bastard king of the underworld project' did little to quell the leftover emotions.  Hell, Nanu had to excuse himself from lunch with the Champion when the conversation turned a little too UB-centric, with the other man bumbling headlong out the door at the invitation to get the hell out.   A kaiju movie on the TV in the background led to two miserable, fucked up old men huddled on the couch for the rest of the evening watching cop dramas. It was never outright panic, not in the old, familiar way, but they both seemed poised to have a nervous fit.

Nanu was too used to that feeling to notice the blatant conflict of interest and a little more than too gungho about the whole affair.  By the time Looker took up pacing again, he couldn't offer the man more than a courteous opportunity to bow out. He could figure out… some other way to bring Giovanni to justice, one without quasi-legal help from an inside source.

 _That_ got dismissed before the words could even finish.  Nanu had to remind himself more than a few times that Looker was a fucking _adult_ and could figure out his own limits.   Not that there wouldn't still be a chat with Annabel.  Someone would need to keep an eye on him outside of Alola.  Nanu just needed a convincing lie for it first and hadn't come up with one yet (he had… two days to figure it out, plenty of time).

Maybe they should give up on the coffee and just sleep.  Minus some compiling of notes, the two wouldn't get much else done tonight.  Nanu could afford to put his coffee down and the other man to bed.

"Erm, Nanu?" His voice wavered and his grip on the other man's hand tightened.  Here it was- the meltdown that had been brewing for the last week.

Nanu took a deep breath.  Two more days, and he could 'forget' to email Looker with follow-ups. He could turn half their conversations to lighter, personal matters.  He could give him a breather, and then they could get on some form of video chat and have a _real_ discussion about the plan forward.  They would stay in contact and this case could dillydally along as Looker could handle it; it'd be enough.   Kahuna and International Police work took precedence anyway, it was as good of an excuse to keep Looker's head above the water as any.

"Hm?" Nanu cracked an eye open, prepared for some quiet sobbing followed by an inevitable panic attack.   He fell more than a few years out of practice with these ("in practice" was questionable in the first place).  Maybe they could put down the coffee, hug it out for a bit, and then go to bed. Maybe they could go for a walk. Maybe they could smoke through a pack of cigarettes before hacking up a lung and quitting again.  Maybe they could watch a cop drama or two. Avoidance wasn't the best tactic, but Bulu be damned if the Kahuna wasn't an expert at it.

"Could I kiss you?"

The words blurted so fast Nanu thought he misheard and responded with a resounding nothing.  Once the noise processed into speech, immediate dread over a decision on the matter washed over. He should ignore it, he decided.  He should say something to the effect of 'no'. He should hold a frank discussion with him. He should talk about what it is Looker thought he was accomplishing since he would be gone in a few days and Nanu would be an old friend at the other end of emails because Alola was expensive as fuck to get to and Looker worked all the damn time and emotions were all over the map _in general_ and this had been more of a personal project that the Kahuna didn't expect to continue at anything more than a slugma's pace from here on out.

Nanu did none of those things.  Nanu tilted his head up and kissed the other man.

Or at least, he attempted to.  His mouth hit Looker somewhere in the chin and he realized _exactly_ how long ago he'd last tried any similar behavior.  The other man didn't seem to mind, as his hand clamped down on the back of Nanu's head, tilted him in the correct direction, and slammed their mouths together.  The blood rushed away from Nanu's brain with the sheer force behind it.

They shouldn't do this, Nanu decided, not without a well warranted discussion.  Looker's dating history was a little checkered, and Nanu's… everything was a little checkered.  Emotions had been all over the place. They were exhausted. All things considered, Nanu owed him at least a five minute checkup to confirm this wasn't a good idea.

They shouldn't do this, but Nanu was going to open his mouth anyway and confirm the other man tasted like coffee.  Their tongues grappled, both of them trying to get an edge on the other. Nanu's hands found their way to Looker's shirt collar on their own, pulling him closer, while Looker's other arm snaked its way around Nanu's waist in agreement.  After few more attempts at trying to reach the back of the other man's mouth, he pulled Nanu clear across his lap.

" _Fuck_ ," Nanu breathed, inadvertently grinding down against him.  The man was hard as a rock, and the intimate knowledge was rushing Nanu to a similar state.

"I agree," Looker replied, which would have made Nanu chuckle if he didn't use that moment to bite down against the crux of his neck.

That resulted in a moan and a realization that it would leave an embarrassing bruise in the morning (fleeting thought, Nanu couldn't give a damn).  His fingers gripped against Looker's shoulders, holding on for dear life. Looker kissed his way up his jaw, taking his sweet ass time with each one, before finding Nanu's mouth again and going back for another round of tongue wrestling.  The Kahuna forgot to breathe in the process, his reminder coming when fingers snuck their way under his shirt.

In an effort to maintain fairness, Nanu managed to snake a hand down and jerk the man's dress shirt free of his waistband.  He promptly discovered an undershirt and had to break out of the kiss to chuckle about it. It had to be in the nineties outside, and the back room's window AC wasn't _great_.

Looker stopped dead, "Erm, is this okay?"

"It's fine," Nanu said, cutting out the laughter.  "....You've got too many layers on."

"Oh… right," he leaned down to untangle his undershirt from his waistband himself, which hadn't been Nanu's intention with that statement but worked nonetheless.  "Better?"

"You were fine," he replied lowly into his ear, "Keep going."

The agent let out a moan and Nanu's lower half responded accordingly ( _cripes_ , it was like he'd never left teenage).  He'd never been so _aware_ of how tight the inseam of his uniform slacks was.  Well, he knew it rode up but not to this degree. Against all better judgement, he ground down until it threatened to split, resulting in another moan out of Looker and a hand shooting up against his chest (making the risk of tearing the damn things worse, but everything else so much better).

Despite Looker going frantic against the other man's skin, as if he couldn't decide what he wanted to feel and settled on _everything_ , their mouths somehow found each other again.  Nanu's thoughts wavered between _'should have done this years ago'_ and _'we shouldn't be doing this at all, this is going to get out of hand'_.  It was already out of hand, since before he could actualize the motions, Nanu fumbled with the buttons on Looker's shirt and in the corner of his mind he could register his own lifting off his torso.

"...This is okay?" Looker asked again, breaking free and tugging Nanu's shirt up to his armpits.

The Kahuna took the opportunity to take a quick look at the button he couldn't undo for the life of him.  His brain didn't have enough blood left to fire the necessary synapses for unbuttoning. "Whatever you want to do is damn fine by me."

"Promise?"

"Of course, fool," Nanu replied, turning to kiss him again in lieu of not being able figure out buttons.

The other man got the shirt halfway over his head with a sudden yank.  He leaned back for the split second he could tolerate, helping Looker rid of him of the damn thing.

Between the sudden chill and the stunned grin that spread across Looker's face, Nanu's nerves shot.  He'd never been so aware that a) he was old, out of shape, and never getting back into it, b) they'd left the damn lights on, and c) he'd unlatched two buttons on his shirt out of at least eight.  Not that he hadn't run through this scene before in a dozen iterations (alone in his own apartment and not without some modicum of guilt afterwards), but they involved a less withered version of himself, no damned lights, and less difficulty getting the other man naked.

He blinked for a second, hoping the Looker had expected to see the pale, scarred, prune-esque thing he was.  The stupid he couldn't help. His blood had been put to better use helping his uniform slacks cut off the circulation in his dick.

"Fair is fair," he muttered, catching Looker's mouth again and fumbling with the damn buttons… and getting nowhere.

"I can assist you," Looker muttered, sparing a second of running his hands down Nanu's sides to fumble with them himself.

Actually, it was for the best.  Nanu would finish in his Tapu-damned pants at this rate and he'd never live with himself after that.  In defeat, he rested his forehead on the man's shoulder and let him make quick work of it. "Thanks… are you all right?"

Looker's arms _shook_ as he moved.  "I'm fine."

 _That_ was a bad 'fine'.  The former IP chief knew that tone by heart to the point it ingrained into instinct.  He jerked back, elbowing a stack of printouts in the process. They went ignored as they scattered across the floor.

Nanu wanted to smack himself right then and there.  He'd done a damned lack of a job at noticing anything about Looker's mental state all fucking week.  Hell, this time the whole 'nah this is a horrible idea' was _cognizantly recognized_ and he _still_ somehow ignored it.  "We don't have to-"

"No, no, I am okay!" Looker protested, his eyes wide and his smile forced. "It is okay!"

"Looker…" Nanu shook his head.  This was some kind of panic attack.  He'd go put an ice pack on his dick and _then_ they'd go smoke through a pack of cigarettes before hacking up a lung and remembering why they'd quit.  Then maybe they'd talk this bad idea out.

"I'm nervous, tha- that is all," he winced as he spoke, "I do- I do not want… you are…"

"We should st-"

"No! I want- You mean a good deal to me.  I do not want to… I do not…I do not want to mess up!"

The words dumbfounded Nanu.  He stared for a minute, trying to force Looker's sentiments into the context of the weird panic fit he was clearly having.  If he 'messed up' anything, it was his own damn mental faculties and honestly… Nanu could go find a bag of ice and a reminder why he quit smoking.

Looker scowled a the other man's confused stare, his face flushing pink. "It has taken me nine days to find the courage to ask you, I would greatly appreciate continuing!"

_Oh._

_Wait, what!?_

"What the hell?" The words coming out if Looker's mouth didn't make any damn sense. "Why?"

"What do you mean by _why_?!"

Well, Nanu meant a lot of things with that _why ._   He meant to start with why the hell he wanted to in the first place, but what came out was "Why the hell did it take you a week?"

"I thought perhaps my sentiments were obvious and instead you would save me the trouble of asking myself!" His voice had switched to bona-fide nervous 836, accent quake and all.

Obvious wasn't a simple concept here. They'd only been cuddling up to each other and passing out on the same futon.  No reason for Nanu to assume any hidden motives. Hell, _that_ had been sort of normal back in the day, but the second Nanu came to terms with that realization it opened up a Pandora's Box of 'how fucking long did the fool sit on this'.  Hopefully the answer to that was nine fucking days, because back in the day 836 had been a naive kid with abandonment issues and 000 had been been a genuine ass with every other type of personality issue.

Nanu decided it best not to inquire on that.

"Shit," he settled for with all the eloquence possible at that moment. "Sorry."

"I… I do not want to impede any future interaction between the two of us, that is my only concern.  It was more than a relief that we… that we are not fighting anymore," he averted eye contact and fidgeted with the lip of the other man's pants pockets, "It is somewhat nerve wracking. I promise, I am otherwise… all right, if you are."

Nanu smiled, resting his forehead against the agent's.  He also got a kiss, just for good measure. "'Course I am. You're not gonna scare me off."

Bulu knows, Looker wasn't the one who just failed to operate a button-down shirt.

"... promise? You will tell me otherwise if something is not okay?"

"Promise," he responded before adding, "...we're a little limited as to what we can get into, anyway. I don't have any condoms… or lube."

Looker gave him a baffled stare.

"It's been a while," Nanu grumbled in as minimal elaboration possible.  It'd been eight years, at least, though probably more all things considered (those last few years in the International Police were a messy blur)  He could be more prepared, yes, he just… had no reason to be.

"What on earth to do use for… well…"

"Lotion works," he shrugged before adding, "not great, but it works."

That earned a laugh out of Looker, as he started to relax.  He let go to shrug his button down off, and Nanu yanked the undershirt over his head.  He had to lean back for an extra second to appreciate the view. Looker still kept up with all the fitness requirements, unlike the rest of the older agents, who ignored them (as expected, he'd always been a bit of a gym junkie). Compared to the prune Nanu was, he looked like scarred up Adonis who'd forever be three times as classically masculine as his former colleague.

His chest hair was flecked with the occasional strand of grey though, which evened the playing field ever so slightly.

"Shit, I remember this one," Nanu muttered, running his fingers over the scars of an old gash on his shoulder.  He took a knife in what turned out to be a Team Galactic den; Nanu sewed it up with dental floss to hold his blood in over Stark Mountain.  At the time, the whole affair hadn't registered as more of an inconvenience to the two of them, even if it left gnarled remains.

Looker flushed red, warming the other man's fingers. "Not one of our better missions."

"Fucking Oreburgh. ...guess I'm the reason it looks like hell now," he realized. The scar got an apology kiss, followed by a few more across the man's collarbone.

"It… it is… ah... I quite like it," Looker struggled for words in the meantime.  "It's a nice memory."

"We almost died in the snow."

He smiled a soft, melancholy grin at the reminder.  "We didn't, however."

'We didn't die'- the awful, horrible summary of their entire career together.  They didn't die at Stark Mountain, they didn't die in the clutches of Team Rocket, they didn't die from an Ultra Beast attack.  Looker and Nanu didn't die.

"Guess not. Still, could have kept you from looking like Frankenstein," Nanu apologized as Looker's fingers traced along his back for the ghosts of their own handiwork, "Your patch jobs didn't turn out quite so bad, some of 'em faded."

"That this for the best," he replied, nuzzling his cheek against Nanu's head and running his fingers down his spine.

He shrugged at the sentiment, "Eh, if my scars faded, sort of not fair to you."

"...I wanted mine to stay forever, even then," Looker admitted with a sigh, glancing at the mark in his shoulder, "the ones you did were special."

"There's a _lot_ of words for my lack of medical prowess," Nanu commented, "that's never been one of 'em."

"Oh these were poorly dressed, I agree.  Your sewing technique is terrible and you were never carrying a real medical kit."

In none of Nanu's midnight fantasies did a critique of his field medic abilities (or lack thereof) pop up.  Somehow, the conversation brought him back to the reality that he was hooking up with _836_.  It wasn't some stupid, overplayed imagination.  This was the real deal, unrelated conversations and all.

It was pretty fucking perfect, honestly.  " _You_ were in charge of holding the medical kit for a damn reason."

"Well yes, but it is somewhat difficult to stitch together my own shoulder, particularly while concussed," Looker pointed out, "It does not mean you could not have retrieved the proper medical supplies."

"If I'd looked through your fucking suitcase for the med kit, you _would_ have died on Stark Mountain," Nanu countered, trying to ignore the absurdity of debating this while straddling his hot former colleague.  The point stood, regardless of setting. "You overpacked, every damn time."

"I had to, you had a tendency of forgetting key mission paraphernalia such as _toothbrushes_."

That earned him a bonafide scowl.  Nanu forgot his fucking toothbrush _once_ , at least only once when they'd been shipped off to some hellhole without any kind of convenience store to _buy_ a fucking toothbrush at (Cinnabar?  Ilex Forest? There were a lot of hellholes to choose from, Nanu couldn't fucking remember which).  "What's your excuse now then? I'm half convinced your roller bag is gonna explode in the lobby."

"Shall we postpone this to reorganize, if you hold such concern?" the other man suggested with a sly grin.

"Yeah, not even if Bulu wanted to strike me down over it," Nanu admitted before kissing him again, partly to shut him up.  They used to argue like this for days on end and it almost always concluded when an forgotten overdue report stole priority.

There was a moment right there that could have lasted forever- both of them chest to chest, kissing lazily, and studying through patches of skin they'd seen a dozen times in the past.  Nanu would have been content to let it last forever if it weren't for the fingers sneaking their way past the lip of his slacks or the rock-hard dick he kept rutting against.

In all seriousness, Nanu hadn't been this hard in years and it had breached _painful._ Looker must have agreed, because his fingers inched around his waist to trace around Nanu's belt buckle.  A palm grazed against his dick in a way that made him arch into the man.

"...Erm, may I?"

" _Please_ ," Nanu groaned, his head slipping back against the other's shoulder, "for the love of the Tapu."

He wasn't prepared for how fast Looker managed to disentangle his dick from his underwear and he certainly wasn't prepared for how _hot_ his fingers felt closing around it.  All his body heat was already below his waist.  Nanu didn't think warmer _existed_.  It briefly registered that someone was moaning and, while he'd never heard that sound before in his life, Looker's mouth was firmly affixed to his neck.  His strokes were gentle, more of an intent exploration of his old friend (mixed in probably with some fear of giving him a friction burn, but Nanu couldn't remember for the life of him where the lotion bottle even was anyway).

If it wasn't about to end as quickly as it started, he would have told the man to get on with it.  Nanu didn't have more than another minute or two in him though and _that_ registered in an abrupt snap of clarity.  Age-old fantasies realized or no, there was exactly one go in him per night and it wasn't about to end _now_.

"Hey, can I blow you?" he whispered, in vain attempt to drag this out.

Looker jolted, though he nodded eagerly to the potential.  Nanu slid back on his knees, regretting the other man's hand pulling off him.  The feeling went by the wayside once he could undo the belt buckle (easier than buttons by a longshot) and inspect what was hidden underneath.  Looker had a sizable dick (which surprised him very little, all of Looker was slightly larger than it really needed to be). For a second, Nanu hesitated, wondering if he could pull this off without gagging himself.  It'd been a while. While his own throbbed at the realization his fantasies came up about three-quarters of an inch short, he ought to first not make a fool of himself with his mouth.

Well, failing to unbutton his damn shirt hadn't scared Looker off so a bad attempt at a blowjob might not either.  With that in mind, he went down on the other man and swallowed as much as he could. It turned out to be a whopping "not much" before gagging, but Looker groaned with enough volume to make Nanu concerned about potential visitors.  The station didn't lock. Anybody who came to Po Town station on the regular knew their Kahuna was involved in some investigation with the International Police in the back room.

They didn't need to find out it involved the Kahuna in question bobbing on the other man's dick, trying to keep his teeth out of the way.  He was out of practice at this. Looker didn't mind, failing to hold together as he death gripped Nanu's shoulder. He flailed as Nanu licked at the head, his fingers all but threatening to dislocate the damn thing.  One of the cups of coffee clinked against the tile floor as he did. Cold coffee soaked through Nanu's slacks.

"Merde," Looker swore as his calf wrapped around Nanu's back. "S-sorry."

He grinned before responding, mouth full, "Fuck it."

The other man practically whimpered at that, and another paper stack toppled.  It went ignored in favor of grabbing Looker's hips and pulling him closer.

"Ah, I am… I am-" the man scrambled, his muscles tensing.

Looker grabbed at his hair to pull him off, which only encouraged Nanu to bear down as far as he could, lips at the base of the other man's dick.  He exploded with a startled yelp that bordered on a squeak. Nanu would have laughed if his mouth didn't fill with cum, gagging him and spilling onto his chin (he should have remembered that would happen… _way_ out of practice).  The other man's arms fell limp around him, giving him room to lift his head up and watch Looker lean back on his elbows, eyes half rolled back in his head.

That would have made Nanu finish in his fucking overtight uniform slacks if it wasn't for the bitter taste in his mouth yanking him back to reality.

Sitting up, Nanu wiped his chin with the back of his hand as he swallowed.  A wince followed; he hoped Looker didn't notice his failure to hide it. The taste of cum had been forgotten over the years.  Looker was well worth a few seconds of discomfort, but cripes was it awful.

Luckily, Looker was lost in his own bliss, head tilted back and panting.  Nanu slid up to the other man to rest in between his legs and lay his mouth on the exposed part of his neck.  In return, Looker shuttered. The reverb went straight to Nanu's dick.

He needed to get off, wet slacks and horrible taste be damned.  With Looker out of commission at the moment and curling against him, Nanu took himself in his own hand.  While he was impressed with himself for lasting this long, this was fucking agony.

"Ah, I can..." Looker muttered, biting at his ear and weaving his hand underneath Nanu's.  

The Kahuna failed to gulp down a moan that was more of a gasp and a grunt of relief rolled into one.  Looker snaked his other hand up Nanu's back and muttered a string of Kalosian something or another into his ear.  Nanu couldn't understand a word of it. It didn't matter, he wouldn't be able to understand a word of it in any language he _did_ speak.  There wasn't enough blood in his brain to care about petty things like noise or potential visitors or where the fuck the lotion bottle was or how they should have done this fucking years ago.

What did matter was Looker's actual fingers were wrapped around him, a little tighter and a lot rougher (...he could have been better prepared) than Nanu would have wanted but lightyears better than a shitty three am fantasy.  It especially didn't matter when Looker ceased babbling long enough to sink teeth into his shoulder and suddenly Nanu was coming over his fist. Nothing mattered then- Nanu's head went white. His senses were all stars and coffee smell and the warm weight and a decade of stress vaporizing.  It was him and Looker and _nothing fucking else_.

Neither of them spoke. Nanu very well couldn't.  His brain short circuited. He collapsed into Looker instead, head falling against the other man's chest and the rest of him going boneless.  His heart thumped in Nanu's ear, slowing with each massive breath. The thump was grounding and yet kept his head spinning- a reminder his partner and best friend from all those years ago was _right here_ , again.  000 was with 836, again.

Moreover, they'd fucked _and_ nothing fell apart. They were okay; the slowing thump in Looker's chest told him so.  Nanu would listen to it forever if he could.

"...Well, I cannot believe what has just transpired," Looker breathed, squeezing with what little strength he had left.

"Same," Nanu agreed with a chuckle, "You okay?"

He nodded, "I have never felt more okay."

Nanu glanced up at his old partner, confirming the ability to read tone hadn't faltered.  The glint in the other man's eyes was a mix of that first meeting at the apartment, the moment Nanu told him he could join the International Police, the first time 000 told him 'good job' in front of the team, the surprise Lumiose Galette on his birthday one year, a million hospital visits where someone should have died, and everything else good in their decade together.  It was a mix of that, but amplified times a thousand.

Nanu leaned up and kissed him for it.  The other man returned it, though without the frantic pace as earlier.  He settled for squeezing them both together until their noses knocked and breathing came with some difficulty.   _This_ was the moment that could last forever, Nanu decide; pressed together, but relaxed and not desperate to get off.

Well, maybe they were a little sticky and sitting in spilled coffee, but the Kahuna would accept it for the rest of eternity.

Looker shuffled, weaving his legs around Nanu in a vain effort to get closer.  As he did, they listened to the soft tink of a mug hitting the tile floor. "And there goes the other cup of coffee."

"We ought to get up and shower anyway," Nanu muttered, hesitant to come back to reality but doing it anyway.  They were about to stick together, it was late, the station didn't lock, and Looker or Nanu or both of them had lost their minds (or found them, all things considered).

Besides, they were on the fucking floor of what used to be the supply closet.  Nanu's back would try to make him regret this in the morning if the two didn't at least relocate.  Euphoria would only override the damage done three decades of chasing grunts, mad scientists, and the occasional genetic experiment for a few hours at best.

With some reluctance, Looker untangled himself and hiked his boxers and slacks back over his (well-shaped) ass.  Three loose pages of mission printouts stuck to his legs, which he frowned at as he stood and picked them off. "Oh dear… We have made a mess of these.  I will have to recopy them."

"Eh, don't worry about it now," Nanu told him, standing and letting his slacks (along with a few stray postits and two pages of notes from the disastrous Faba interview) fall to the ground. "I'll get 'em and send you it with the rest of the scans after."

The Tapu only knew what they were coated _with,_ given the recent exchange of liquids.  Nanu sure as shit wasn't enlisting Acerola's help in this now.  Hell, he'd be telling her the back room had a hole in the fucking floor and to stay the fuck out.

"Ah… I suppose that is… acceptable," his voice trailed off and he fidgeted with his belt before giving up and letting it fall to the floor, "...Er, I was thinking over the situation and it might save your time if I were to... _return_ after my next mission.  It is reconnaissance and will not take a good deal of time, and in besides, Mr. Colress and Mr. Faba are our chief contacts in this matter and for the time being they are located here so it would be best if I spent additional time here and I get time off after missions now that I have-"

Nanu grinned and cut him off.  The agent had sat on this for nine days as well, no doubt.  "You're welcome back any time, fool."

"Oh, well.  That is good then."  He looked a little stunned there wasn't more discussion on the point.   "You do not mind?"

If he _had_ to be honest with himself, he did mind.  Nanu wanted him to _stay_.  It wasn't just a fucking realistic request, not with jobs and Kahuna duties and how fucking _boring_ Alola was.  Besides, in the ledger of shit that fucked up Looker, Nanu held a pretty heavy entry.  He had no right to ask him to hang around.

He sure as shit wouldn't complain though if the IP agent wanted to show up on occasion, of his own volition.

"'Course not," the Kahuna answered with a grin.

"Ah, perfect then," he pulled Nanu into a rib-crushing hug, nearly taking the man off his feet in the process.

 _Perfect indeed_ , Nanu thought. He couldn't think of a moment more perfect.

Well, he could be less sticky.  "C'mon fool, we both need that shower."

They huddled together under the water, not in any mood to break contact.  The years lost, added in with the years of missed opportunities, left them with lot of catching up to do.  Nanu needed to catch up on all the feeling of staying pressed against Looker that he'd missed his entire life.  Looker hummed in content, but otherwise couldn't find any words for a change.  The awkward slow dance under the shower lasted until the water went cold (ie… not long; Nanu never did spring for a better water heater when he moved in full time). 

"...I'm gonna take the futon into the back," Nanu decided as they headed to bed.  They'd been sleeping in the station lobby, more often than not woken up by a visitor in the morning.  While in every other circumstance it never mattered to the Kahuna, and hadn't perturbed either of them in the last week, Looker deserved _some_ privacy.

Hell, Nanu _wanted_ some privacy.  He wanted to not fall asleep back to back for a change of pace. He didn't want to shake himself up and continue acting like any of that behavior was wholly platonic. Looker hadn't intended on that sentiment anyway.  

In retrospect, Nanu had missed a few neon signs.

Whatever, he was old and out of practice. He'd never been in practice in the first place and two weeks ago they still hated each other.  Easy mistake.

Looker agreed with him on the futon at least, helping him lug the mattress off and haul it into their 'office'.  Once the loose papers and spilled coffee were tidied up, it fit in the back corner. A real bed might fit there too.

Nanu shook the thought out of his head as he shut the light and crawled under the covers.  If Looker wanted to show up on his own volition, he would. No reason to jump to conclusions or press the issue or buy a real bed.

The half inch of foam directly on the floor was going to destroy his back, though. Once he sidled up against the other man, however, he couldn't care about the impending week of laying on a heating pad. Looker wrapped around him, pulling the older man against his chest like he'd float away if he didn't.  It wasn't his anxious squeeze or a sleep choke, just a tight hold that Nanu wasn't wholly familiar with.

A waved of doubt washed over him, despite the awkward platonics they'd engaged in for the last few decades.  There was still a Pandora's Box of 'how fucking long had he waited on this' and the other Pandora's Box of 'emotions were all over the map'.  The clear-headed combination of the two wrench at Nanu's gut.

"You're sure you're alright?" Nanu whispered through the dark, his thoughts on the ten thousands 'I'm fines' that… never were.

"I have never been better… I promise," Looker responded into the top of his head.

"You'll tell me if you aren't, right?"

"Nanu, of course.  You do not need to worry as much as you do."

"You know I always do," he shrugged.

Looker sighed, weaving his fingers into gray hair. "I will spend eternity convincing you I am fine, will I not?"

"Yeah well, you once told me you were fine and then I came over to you having a panic attack," the Kahuna recalled, "Got good reason not to trust your definition of 'fine'."

That had been about a year after the whole leaving Team Rocket thing.  000 walked downstairs because he'd forgotten his coffee mug at the other man's apartment the previous morning, and found 836 curled up next to the dishwasher, shaking.  To the date, he had no idea what provoked it and would never ask. He spent the rest of the morning sitting next to him without a damn clue as to how to make it stop and didn't improve much over the next decade.

The "I'm fines" continued afterwards and 836 pretended nothing happened until the next episode.  Eventually, Nanu told him they were getting ice cream, threw him in a cab, and dragged him into the psychiatrist's office.  Looker was less than thrilled but he cooperated for another year provided they got ice cream afterwards.

The meltdowns became… less frequent, at least.

"And you made sure it did not happen again," the accusatory tone dropped from his voice, "I am still very thankful for everything you did for me… I assure you."

"...you don't need to thank me."

"I will anyway," his other hand snaked up Nanu's back, drawing loose squiggles with his fingertip.

Nanu took a deep breath, before failing to drop the subject.  "...You were kind of weird with other people though, even after."

"I was not 'weird'," Looker protested with a grumble.

"You had me bail you out of more dates than you realized you were on," Nanu reminded him, "I always kinda worried, you know, all things considered."

Considering when they met, Looker had an abusive boyfriend and then a major anxiety problem.  In their ten years as associates, Nanu hadn't known him to go on a second date. The two issues seemed related.

"...Always worried me you never made it through a whole damn date," he continued when the other man grunted in response, "I don't want to fuck you up any worse, that's all."

Bulu knew, he did a lot of damage already.  Not as much as everyone else, but their fight on the docks and 000's sudden retirement held some value in the ledger of shit that fucked up Looker.  This… well, he had no idea what _this_ was and where it fell in that ledger and he wouldn't ask come hell or high water.  Blowing the man in the back room of the station after a decade of no contact didn't fall under the standard definition of 'healthy', even if it felt that way.

Nothing they did was considered 'healthy'.  They'd both been in the International Police.  If they'd wanted healthy, they could have gone to local PD and written traffic tickets for eternity.

Well, Nanu _had_ done that and wound up fighting an Ultra Beast regardless.

"I had a good reason if you must know," Looker blurted, squeezing the other man and talking into the top of his head, "You have always been the standard for whatever relationship I have been in.  I excused myself most of those occasions because I would rather my time spent in your company and I knew it. It was not worth the wasted time. It… wasn't in relation to anything else."

"...that sounds more unhealthy," Nanu commented, though he got the idea.  

He didn't date much himself back in the day.  He never went to dinner because if he didn't have work to finish, 836 probably wanted to do something that night.  836 wanted to see that movie, he wouldn't catch it without him. Yeah they could go battle, but he'd have practice with 836 tomorrow and he didn't want to tire out his team.  While 000 wouldn't say it, even after leaving and growing into Kahuna Nanu, 836 finding a steady date would have left him heartbroken. He would force himself to live through the experience should it occur, but he also refused to call the kettle black and seek somebody out himself.  

His subordinate had been comfortable in a way everyone else _wasn't_.  It was more than good enough, Nanu just… couldn't afford to be dumb.  Looker had been an attractive and sweet kid, with a couple issues that made him clingy.  If he lacked any conscience, the former chief would have cashed that check.

Now though, they were _both_ fucked up old men.  They'd been through hell and back a dozen times each.  They could define their own Tapu-damned healthy behavior.

Looker shrugged.  "I assumed one day I'd meet someone I wanted to spend time with over you and that would be that.  I never did… even after you left."

"...I guess things weren't so different for me, at the end of the day," he mumbled, not wanting to admit the fact but needing to say it out loud.   "...You're welcome back whenever you want."

Looker let out a contented sigh and tightened around the other man. "It makes me very happy to hear it."

Nanu smirked into his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat.  Looker was too young for him and they were a disaster from day one and they both kept their own ledgers of issues, but it didn't matter. They were two fucked up old men, and the two on the planet that understood the extent of how bad off the other was. It was comfortable for the both for them.

"Shouldn't be too pleased about it for your sake," Nanu grinned, settling into him and closing his eyes, "But I'm pretty damn happy myself."

The least Nanu could do was accept comfortable, if only for Looker.  The poor bastard deserved that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN Y WAY, final chapter as I find free time. Upped the rating to be on the safe side.
> 
> In other news relating to why this is late, I don't have appendicitis. Yay me. Boo the rest of my internal organs.


	11. What Mattered, At the End of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu completes the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: References to the other horrible shit that has happened in this fic already. Swearing. Post-mission meltdown. General undercurrent of critical anxiety. Hints of Molayne/Guzma due to something else I may or may not be working on.

****When Nanu's phone rang, Looker had been gone for close to a month that time around.

Over the last two years, they fell into a weird routine with their work towards the Rainbow Rocket puzzle.  Looker's career with the International Police continued on (though he'd transferred to Extremist Movements, a good fit given the current Chief of Org Crime wanted to kill him on a regular basis and Looker tended toward zealot himself), and the agent found most of the pieces between missions on his jaunts across the world.  He stayed out of management, intelligence, training, or advisory, despite having more years in the employ of the International Police than anyone ever should. The meticulous piecing together of their smidgens of evidence was saved for his time on.

Nanu had to admit he appreciated the inclusion.  Looker could more than figure out most of it on his own, and the Kahuna's place was stuck on the rock.  The project gave him something to _do_ , besides wander around neuroticizing about Ultra Beasts and wormholes and whatever Acerola had gotten into and the other Kahunas.  In fact, the Giovanni puzzle gave him the first motivation to get his ass off the couch without the impending threat of death since he'd first come back to Alola.

Part of the motivation might have been working on the puzzle with Looker.  Nanu tried not to admit to that.

At first (and second), Nanu didn't recognize the ring.  His normal ringtone was whatever the manufacturer set as default. After years of heralding a punk stuck in a tree, the tone gave him a visceral psychological reaction not unlike plastic bottle vodka.  This wasn't it, even if it came from the same cell phone he'd left in the lobby.

For a brief moment, he considered the noise was an alarm.  Unless the world was crumbling underneath him and Looker forgot to set his own alarm, though, his phone wouldn't have an alarm set.  The "836 <3" (Looker had entered his own phone number after a year of frustration that Nanu hadn't put him into the contacts list) popping up on the screen served to confuse further once he dug it up from between the couch cushions.

Looker didn't call much on missions either, which was another point of confusion.  The man texted with abandon and sent plenty of photos (to every degree of concerning), but calls came few and far between.  Calls meant he had to work another week or his flight was delayed or his wrist found itself broken or any other category of bad news.  Nanu hadn't expected him for at least another three weeks anyway, and Anabel beat the agent to a heads up if he broke anything.

The noise confused him, so he canceled it and called Looker back.

"Ack, you should have picked up the other time, I am trying to host a video call," the man instructed at about twenty-five decibels over necessary.

Nanu forwent any kind of greeting as well.  They'd long given up on real pleasantries, much like in their past lives. "I don't think this phone does that."

"Yes, it does.  I assure you, you have the same phone as I," Looker responded with exasperation, "It will not be for long, a few seconds. Perhaps five minutes.  While I have something important to show you."

"Well, can I just make it do a video from here?" The phone screen was too damn hard to read without his reading glasses.  The damn operating system needed to come in large print.

Someone in the background cursed, and Looker barked an instruction to be quiet before responding, "I am sure but I do not know how."

"Hang on let me see if there's a button for it," he tried to tap around on the screen and instead ended the call.  It needed a large print setting. "Ah, damnit."

The strange ringtone reappeared after a few minutes of searching for a button that might lead to video (though he'd somehow wound up in his email and couldn't click out).  This time Nanu picked it up and found himself staring straight at the agent. Looker waved with his free hand, a grin from ear to ear. Instinctively, Nanu scanned for signs of beating, stabbing, or gunshot.  He didn't seem to have any excess blood on him, but the Kahuna didn't have his reading glasses on either.

Well, Anabel hadn't called so he probably hadn't injured himself.

"Ah yes, this is much better," he boomed, "And your phone does have a video, my assumption was correct."

"Guess so," Nanu shrugged, hitting the speaker button so it could stay at the desk while he retrieved his coffee and reading glasses.  He just needed to _confirm_ Looker hadn't been shot in the back of the shoulder.

"Ack, where are you going?!  You have missed the point of this endeavor!"

"Finding my coffee," Nanu called back at his phone, "I'll be back to look in a second."

"But now _I_ cannot see you!" he protested, his voice bordering on a whine.

Nanu scoffed.  "You know what I look like."

"Come back to the phone this instant!"

"All right, all right," he grabbed the mug off the desk and stepped over the meowth back to the couch.  The reading glasses be damned, they had disappeared to the junk drawer never to be found until Nanu needed the stapler.  Maybe he could zoom in on the picture or something instead, it had to be one of the damn buttons. "Better?"

From the other end, Looker pinched the bridge of his nose, "It will have to do.  It is somewhat better if you hold it up so the camera is on the upright portion of your face."

Nanu rolled his eyes but held the phone up to humor the man. Plus, it wasn't as if he'd find a fucking zoom button without his specs anyway.  "Better?"

"Quite!" Looker chirped, his tone a weird happy that Nanu hadn't heard since his early days in the International Police.  For a brief moment, he considered the agent took a blow to the head. It would explain the sudden desire for a video chat.  "And now, this is why I wanted for us to have a video."

He turned the cell, and Nanu started gripe that _he_ needed to be on camera.  The phone steadied and the picture began to clear.  It came into focus on the last person Nanu expected to see again.  In front of the camera, on his knees in some alley in some forlorn corner of wherever Looker had been sent, was the king of the underworld, the worst of the worst:

Giovanni.

Nanu's heart skipped four beats and for a second he panicked that he was too old for this kind of excitement. "Son of a bitch," he breathed, staring down the old crowbat, who glared back.

"We did it!" Looker chirped off camera.

"Oh don't tell me Zero-zero-zero was in on this!" he spat, squirming.  Looker had him bound up real well with duct tape. Once they ripped top layer of his skin off removing the shit, his shoulders were going to hurt for weeks.  Served the bastard right.

"Damn straight," Nanu's one sided smirk stretched all the way to his ear, his stomach churning with excitement.  He set his coffee back down on the table, no longer convinced he'd stay heart failure another day with the added caffeine.

Granted, it didn't matter.  They did it.

They fucking did it.

Ten years of retirement on Nanu's part and Looker's… well, everything (he realistically got shackled with most of the work) proved successful.

The leader of Team Rocket himself was in custody.

"I should have known," Giovanni growled, staring daggers.  Thank the Tapu duct tape was the strongest force in the known universe.  If the man could have gotten up and throttled Nanu through the cell phone screen, he might have.  "Can't leave a damn case behind, even when you fail into obscurity."

"You're one to talk," the Kahuna snorted, though he needed to shut his mouth lest Looker have a few complications on his hands.  They'd gotten this far and the fight couldn't have been easy (which made Nanu slightly more concerned about the lack of reading glasses… Looker _had_ to be injured, somewhere).  The agent deserved the next few hours to go off without a hitch.  "Looks like my detour from retirement panned out better."

Giovanni cracked a snide grin, "Wouldn't say that myself, you look like you caught up to your age and then lapped it a few times."

To be honest with himself, Nanu was more than a bit jealous in that regard.  Giovanni hardly looked different from the last time Nanu saw him (granted, he'd had one hell of a concussion then).  These days, the former IP chief looked like a very pale prune.

"Ack, this is not entirely the truth," Looker started from offscreen.  The agent in question dyed his hair, panicked at every new spot of grey, and refused to wear reading glasses, but he liked Nanu's appearance for reasons unknown to even the Tapus.

"Eh, nah he looked pretty good, I'll give him that," Nanu pointed out, "Shit's unfair.  But I guess if I spent the last two decades sitting on my ass in an isolated villa I'd look fantastic too."

Well no, he'd still look like a prune.  The former agent started greying before Team Rocket went bust.  The coffee, booze, and nicotine diet hadn't done him much good during his younger years and the momentum from the terrible lifestyle wouldn't have stopped because of life on a tropical paradise.

Well, life on a tropical paradise with nothing to do.  Alola took ten years off his life, if Nanu had to guess.

"I'll leave the matter up to interpretation," Giovanni remarked, rolling his eyes, "But, the base need to settle old scores has never much resonated with me, I must say."

Nanu chuckled, "This isn't settling a damn thing, you old bastard."

"This is revenge served cold," Looker added, butchering the idiom a bit.

"Damn straight," he agreed, sitting back on the couch in triumph and disrupting a meowth that had attempted to crawl behind him.  "And it doesn't matter a damn thing anyway, because you're about to rot out the rest of your old age in jail."

Giovanni muttered out some curses as Looker turned the phone back around, still grinning ear to ear.  "Congratulations to our success! ... Er, we will have to wait perhaps longer than planned for a celebration.  I will be somewhat late with the return, as there will be a considerable amount of wrap up with this advancement."

"Yeah, what I figured."  That… sucked. Expected, but it sucked.

It didn't matter. They did it.  The final loose end on 000's International Police career was tied.  The king of the underworld would be behind bars.

"You have nothing to charge me with, it will go _nowhere_ ," the Rocket boss barked from offscreen.

"Up to interpretation," Nanu called back at him.  Over the course of the last two years, they built up a solid case of new activity ('they' being Faba, Colress, and the two wiz kids over at the Observatory, since it all required computer knowledge well beyond anything Nanu or Looker could comprehend).  The bastard had gotten sloppy in his old age, or at least kept his computer skills on par with his peer group. "Besides, you still skipped out on your last arrest."

"Statute of limitations," Giovanni pointed out.

"Many thanks for saying this while the video is recording," Looker responded, glaring, "We may be able to consider this as new evidence to introduce."

"Something like that, anyway," Nanu muttered.  Legal procedures had never been his bag. He had to iron his suits and wear a tie just to stand around in a courtroom for days on end. Nine times out of ten the defense referred to some part of 000's investigation as 'barely legal' and once in a while the judge the IP got elected had the gall to agree.  The nicest part of Supernormal was that space monsters, interdimensional creatures, and genetic experiments didn't have trials to testify at. "Gimme a call when he's in custody and all."

"Ah of course," the other man said, still beaming, "I will keep you posted on everything!"

"Great job, agent."

"None of this would have been accomplished without your assistance!" he replied, not wanting to hang up.  Nanu didn't much want him to hang up either. Getting off the phone with the man was always… difficult. With ten years out of contact, the two still felt they had a lot of catchup to do and Nanu couldn't stomach goodbyes.

And they just caught Giovanni.  Nanu needed to know how the agent pulled it off, even if a phone call while (...hopefully) waiting for backup to arrive wasn't the time or place to recant the tale. They pulled the details on a Sevii villa on Looker's last visit to Alola (well, Molyane did, from some email forwards Looker acquired shaking down a berry importer in Unova). Neither could trace the real estate records well enough to figure out which shell company currently owned the place.  Nanu had made some headway on that last week, but the outfit in question wasn't one they'd already tied back to Team Rocket. He forwarded the details to Looker anyway, who threw around a few reasons to steer his current mission near the locale.

Nanu squashed it, since the man recently wound up arrested for trespassing in Sootopolis City on a similar plan.  Instead, the agent conceded to run the name by Intel in a way that would, with any luck, _not_ arouse suspicion.  The last time he coerced Intel to check on any of their leads, he bumbled an excuse about a 'background check' on a prospective boyfriend.  Nanu's cell phone exploded with calls from Anabel that he didn't know how to field. That particular corporate trust came up clean, thank Bulu, so Nanu didn't have to either pretend to be in Team Rocket (never again) nor feign to know about some boyfriend of Looker's.

To be perfectly honest with himself, Nanu would take the former over the latter. It did beat paying bail by wire and bumbling through a cover-up with Anabel.  Anabel wasn't _stupid_ about the relationship between her former boss and current subordinate, but they'd promised each other not entangle her in their puzzles.  If anything, their quasi-relationship covered up the real side work at hand.

She'd find out now, in any case.  The impending phone blowup later would get real interesting.

"None of this will go anywhere!" Giovanni insisted from offscreen, "You have no valid evidence, just like you had no valid evidence last time!"

"Quiet, please," Looker huffed at him, rolling his eyes.  He dropped the phone some as he did, and the picture starting to lag.  Nanu grumbled at the distortion in connection."Backup will be coming soon, I would prefer that you are _well behaved_."

"Oh, you're… one to talk… aren't you?" he retorted, his words chopping in the poor cell reception.  On screen, Looker's eyes went dinner plate wide. Nanu's heart skipped another four beats. "I'm sure… your backup will… want to kno-"

The picture blurred, then froze.  The screen went black, and then the call hung up.

Nanu's hand lost its grip on the cell.  Looker could have been anywhere. Giovanni could have any kind of support.  It was suspicious in the first fucking place he managed to apprehend the king of the underworld without _any_ visible evidence of fight.  Given the way the agent operated, he'd probably called Nanu _first_ and forgotten to alert anyone that mattered that he needed backup _right the fuck now_.

The cell bounced against Persian, who had curled up at his feet.  Nanu snatched it up and sent a flurry of texts to Anabel. He was halfway through typing the estimate of places Looker _could_ be (Nanu had no real idea) when the phone popped up with an unknown caller.  No phone number listed.

He swiped it to pick up immediately.  "Yes, hello!?"

"Ah, there that is better," Looker chirped on the other end.

Nanu let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, "What in the hell, fool?!"

"Dropped my mobile.  It is… unfortunately out of commission I believe.  My apologies," he offered, his voice holding a slight quake.

"The hell happened?!"

"Ah, slipped through my fingers.  Simple mistake," he brushed off the issue.  "I… er, I suppose I will now have to procure a replacement.  But, the International Police have arrived, I am pleased to be informing you."

Taking a deep breath, Nanu drug his hand across his face.  Of course that the issue- Looker got excited and fumbled his phone, just like he knocked over coffee cups, broke doorknobs, and once snapped the band for Nanu's Darkium Z crystal (...which upset the other man far more than it bothered Nanu, Bulu knows he didn't put any kind of metaphor behind Looker's sudden failures to remember his own strength).  "Well, at least the IP showed up and did fucking something for a change. You hitching a ride back with them?"

"...Yes, I'm apparently pulled from my other mission."  His voice was laden with some kind of disappointment Nanu couldn't place.

"No surprises there," he could almost see the mountain of paperwork that would start piling on the agent's desk, "Better catch up with them.  Give me a buzz when you're around a phone again."

"Ah, yes, right, of course."

"Good job, Eight Thirty-six."

"...Thank you," he responded, before hanging up the call.  One of the IP agents was probably standing in the vicinity, demanding their damn cell phone back.

Nanu smiled as he put his cell down and sank into the couch, leaning back on yet another meowth (who scampered upon being sat on).  They'd won. After thirty fucking years, they'd finally won. Fifteen stupid years went wasted in the International Police chasing him, almost ruining his career and brushing him against death.  In the end, 000 and 836 took him down in their spare time, because true to their history, they were the best fucking team the International Police had ever seen (even after Nanu retired). It took two stupid fucking years of crawling over stolen Intel and hacked data in a fucking supply closet between Looker's jaunts around the world, but they _still_ pulled it off.

And now Looker would have no reason to keep making stopovers in Alola, Nanu realized with a skip in heartbeat.  

For the last two years, the man showed up, conferred with Nanu on all their new analyses, compiled a new set of leads, and went on his next mission. That had been their routine.  The fucking around had been sort of a bonus, but all things considered, the two were lonely fucks. Looker said it himself, he'd just never found anyone better. Their capture Giovanni project hadn't exactly given him the time to look.

The final case was closed.  The loose ends of their lives were tied.   What the hell else was there?

The Kahuna stared up at the ceiling, debating offering up a prayer to Bulu that he could convince Looker to still visit between missions.  It wouldn't be to much end, and Nanu knew it. Flights to Alola were ungodly expensive. Once the tourist shit was out of the way, there wasn't much to do on the islands.  Nanu's life was about as exciting as it came.

Besides,  Alola was still effective ground zero for Looker's (third) life restart.  Even if the man _swore_ the Guzzlord incident was behind them and they'd come to an understanding, he had his moments.  He wouldn't go to Poni, even on the rare occasions Nanu had to spend the whole damn day there helping Hapu with something or another.  He certainly didn't like the Aether Foundation. Colress discovered about two months in that the fastest way to free the room from Looker was to discuss their latest wormhole developments.

_"Yeah, how about you go broke keeping me company here in hell while we do fuckall?"_

Nanu shook the thought out of his head.  He promised himself twenty years ago, when he stole the fake ID and return the kid his freedom, that he'd never force Looker to do anything for him.  The poor bastard had his own life. Giovanni had needed to go down. If it came at the cost of Looker's company, so be it. Nanu wouldn't beg the agent for an extension.

They'd captured Giovanni.  He'd been their whole reason for being around each other in the first place.  That was what mattered, at the end of the day.

-

Nanu hadn't gotten off the couch by the time Guzma showed up for his shift.  The most he'd amounted to was finding a set of cat videos to play in the background while he stared at the ceiling and absentmindedly pet the meowth that settled on his stomach.

Giovanni was gone.  The single more important target in Nanu's life was _behind bars_.

"Oi, old man, heard the news," the junior officer announced as he barged through the station doors, buttoning up his uniform shirt.  "Congrats on takin' out an evil sonofabitch without ever leaving the station."

The senior officer glanced over at his trainee, cocking an eyebrow but not sitting up, "And how did you know?"

"Well for one, I tried callin' you like forty fucking times to see if I could be late today 'cuz I had some shit to do.  Figured you made a big breakthrough on yer project. Used my detective skills and all," he plopped down on the couch across from Nanu, three buttons still undone, "Anyway, yer weirdo called me though and said to take you out to dinner for it on his behalf.  How'd he get my number anyway?"

Right, Guzma, the exact substitute for dinner with Looker that the Kahuna had been looking forward to.

"Fuck if I know, he's a secret agent," Nanu shrugged.  Somehow, the phone numbers of more than a few of Nanu's colleagues migrated their way into Looker's contacts.  No explanation was ever offered.

"Grats though, " Guzma stood and stretched, "If you pay, I'll listen to the story."

"Oh will you now?"

They might as well.  Laying on the couch feeling sorry for himself wasn't healthy.  He'd lived forty years of his life without Looker. He'd survive the rest of it.  Giovanni was gone and that, at the end of the day, was what mattered.

"Told him I'd do it… don't want a repeat of the last promise I broke," the trainee officer shuddered.  While being chased up a tree by a overtired IP agent weilding a spatula for failing to lock up the station fell somewhere in the realm of _complete overreaction_ (and hopefully wasn't going to happen again), it made for effective motivation.  Nanu couldn't chastise Looker too much over it.

He might not have the chance to anyway.

"Fair enough," Nanu conceded, sitting up and stretching.  "Give Molayne a buzz, he was in on this project. He deserves at least a damn burger out of it."

He hadn't eaten all day anyway.  If Guzma was the best dinner company he'd get from here on out… well, he would be eating alone forever.  But he'd buy the kid a burger tonight, since Alola PD officers in training made diddly-squat and Nanu shouldn't stew alone after a mission complete quite like this.

Plus, it was fun watching him and the wiz kid squirm.  The two weren't subtle.

-

"Ack, I only have a few moments," Looker babbled when the phone rang with the second unknown number, location indeterminate, of the day.

Nanu had almost not picked it up.  He'd dozed off on the station couch, buried under a pile of meowth, Absol's tennis balls, and a sableye.  By the time he dug his cell out from under the pile, he almost threw it at the notice of the unlisted number before remembering that served as the IP's calling card these days.  "Huh? Yeah, right… what time's it?"

"Approximately nine in the morning here," the agent answered, matter of fact, before resuming his train of thought, "There are several matters of which I need to discuss with you further on-"

"Shit, means it's like two here.  I need to stop sleeping on the damn couch."

"Ah. Right.  My apologies, the time zone difference I may have calculated backwards again," he shot through an apology, his voice quaking.

Nanu blinked awake at that.  "You all right?"

"Just fine!  I promise, I am fine!"

He shot upright on the couch, displacing the two meowth still lounging on his stomach.  That wasn't a good fine. "Looker?"

"It is nothing, I needed to discuss-"

"Looker, you done with the fucking phone yet?  I don't have a fucking international roaming plan, I told you that!" someone yelled in the background.  Though Nanu couldn't place the voice with a face, it was a member of the arresting team the International Police sent if he had to guess.

"Right, right!  Only another moment!" he called before stuttering, "I- er- I shall talk to about this matter later.  Perhaps it is too much discussion for these particular circumstances."

"Looker, what the hell is going on?"

"Today, Looker!" the agent in the background complained again.

"Tell him to go fuck himself," Nanu shot back, "Are you all right?"

"I am fine!  We just need to have a discussion about the near future… and here is not the right moment for it, I believe," he recanted, "I am sorry to bother you, continue sleeping."

"Loo-"

"I shall call you when I have some more time!" he promised, "I need to go!"

The call ended before Nanu could get another word in.

With a deep breath, he laid down and stared up at the ceiling.  He wouldn't fight whatever Looker had in mind as a conversation.  In the ledger of things that fucked up 836, Nanu held more than a few entries.   The agent deserved a clean exit to this if he really wanted it.

Bulu wouldn't even get a prayer about it all.  The boss of Team Rocket had been apprehended, that was the part what mattered.  Nanu could deal with the aftermath.

-

"No, I did not mean the sweater with the cables, however yes, thank you, that was on this list," Looker mumbled into his end of the phone, somewhere in Saffron, at a neighbors apartment because he'd neglected to get himself any kind of landline that would make life convenient on Nanu in light of the broken cell phone.

"You've got more than one damn green sweater you know," Nanu grumbled from halfway underneath the bed in their former-storage-closet-now-an-office-slash-bedroom, shoving boxes of his partner's possessions around while balancing his cell against his ear.  This was the fourth of these wild zangoose chases for Looker's belongings. He'd be on a heating pad for the rest of the week at this rate. His patience had thinned somewhere in the last call and he hadn't been looking forward to a continuation.

This was the fourth of these wild zangoose chases in the last six hours, with every item on Looker's list going either into a pile of 'could you please send that in the express post to the International Police headquarters' or 'oh, no, leave it, I can… do something about it when I arrive'.  The first time, Nanu settled for feeling happy to hear from him again. The second time felt… odd by the standard definition but not for Looker, and by the third it became apparent where this excavation of underneath the bed headed.

In the meantime, Looker neglected to explain any of the search requests, the middle of the night call from wherever the fuck he'd been, or how the fuck the takedown of Giovanni happened in the first Tapu-damn place.  Every attempt to glean more information on… any of this shit was met with 'ack, this is better saved for a moment when time is not more of the essence'.

All of Nanu's quasi-relationships failed to last long enough for a real breakup (climbing out of a lot of restaurant bathroom windows on the quick fucks wouldn't leave barely counted), but this… seemed about par for the course.

Inevitably, most of Looker's possessions made their way into the station over the last few years, though less trickled and more showed up in massive postal deliveries.  Half the time, the contents were mission-related: printouts of old reports, highlighted within an inch of their life, photos of evidence collected by Org Crime over the years, and CDs with hours of interviews to pour over.  The other half of the time, he sent his actual belongings: suits so he could take a direct flight to his next mission and maximize his time in Alola, costumes in sore need of repair, pulp fiction he'd wanted to read or reread (Nanu borrowed more than a few of those).  At one point he'd sent along a good bit of cookware, since Nanu had nothing substantial and the two needed to live on something other than pizza and beer.

Nanu had half a mind to just pile all the shit in the center of the room and go into easy mode for any future sorting, but a) it would take an absurd amount of time since Looker left an absurd amount of shit at the station and b) that would force him face to face with a reality he didn't have the stomach for yet.  Another few days of the search-and-sort game though, and that would have to be the solution. His back couldn't take this.

"The one with the cables is more of a gray," the agent insisted, "This is the one that is very green."

"I haven't seen that one in months and I'm not seeing it here, probably still at your place."

"Ack, I just finished my search and did not come across that sweater.  I could have sworn it found itself shoved underneath the bed." Nanu could picture him scratching his chin amidst the missing clothing.

It almost hurt worse than his back knowing he might not be seeing that again.

"Nope.  Anything else on your list this time or are you finally gonna go to bed?" he grumbled, looking at the piles of junk they'd stuffed into the makeshift bedroom (/office).  Nanu should have come to terms with this months ago.

"It is only three, the night is still young."

Besides, in the ledger of shit that fucked up Looker, Nanu held a pretty big entry.  He couldn't _blame_ Looker in the slightest if he didn't want to stay after their project ended.  Nanu hadn't given him the courtesy of staying after finishing with the IP. It was _fair_ , if nothing else.

" _Looker_."

The least Nanu could do was act the gentlemen about the whole thing. Let Looker tell him on his own time.  Politely box up all the things the man wanted sent home in the meanwhile. Keep a straight face throughout the whole thing, somehow.

He owed Looker that much.

The point of their interactions was to put Giovanni behind bars, anyway.  Nothing else should have mattered.

"Right, right.  One more. There should be a shoebox with the collection of passports I have acquired over the course of things," he explained, "I believe it is under the bed."

"Yup, it is," Nanu rolled over and grabbed it, "Just kicked it out of the way trying to find your damned sweater."

All agents had their little collections of fake identities from missions throughout the years.  Even Nanu had kept his stored away, though his box had been unceremoniously shoved at the idiot assigned to debriefing him when he 'retired' in effigy.  A part of him wished he'd tried to take them back to Alola, for a good laugh on down the road. Most of him realized that short of lighting the whole damn box on fire, returning the fake passports constituted the one sound decision he'd made leaving the International Police.

"Ah good," he breathed a sigh of relief, "I will need that mailed posthaste with the International Police laptop and the library books."

Against all better judgement, Nanu opened it.  They probably would have been good for a laugh, the same way all the old scars were, if this whole arrangement wasn't about to belly up.  The two never had the time to sort through them, unlike the scars Nanu got a great view of every night Looker was in Alola. "Cripes you have a ton of them."

Looker's box _overflowed_ with people he'd pretended to be.  Cover stories and double lives had been his forte.  It made sense, given the rest of the man's obscured history.

"...Many years with the International Police," the agent sighed, suddenly very quiet, "It has been a long time, I suppose."

"You lasted longer than me," Against further good judgement, Nanu thumbed through the box, "Hey, you still got the one from that disaster of a run in Unova."

"Oh, please do not remind me of that mission," Looker groaned, "I thought we would lose our jobs."

"You did, maybe.  The fucking local PD was supposed to be alerted we were working in the area," he chuckled.   An overzealous Nimbasa officer nailed them for a fake driver's license of all things, thinking the two were using it to sneak  836 into a bar. The arrest grew more convoluted when neither could remember enough Unovan to blubber their way out of the situation (as if Nanu ever had any skill in the language department) and the booking clerk couldn't ascertain either of their real identities.  In the end, the IP's Outreach team paid bail before setting the story straight, but not until after they spent three days in a holding tank and convinced 836 he'd been found out. "Not our damn fault we wound up in lockup."

Nanu found the whole debacle hilarious at the time.  In retrospect, the memory came to bittersweet at best.  Bittersweet to the former field chief anyway, Looker's sentiments on the issue hadn't changed.

"It was horrible."

"Eh, it was a real funny shitshow," Nanu maintained, before noticing a very old and very beaten Kalosian passport.  His brain screamed at him to stop, which his hand ignored as the cover flipped open.

The bright and shining face of a scrawny Kalosian teenager, one who didn't know a damn thing about the International Police and even less about Team Rocket, graced the front page.

"Holy shit, _your_ passport is in here." Nanu slammed the lid back on the shoebox.  He'd seen it exactly once before. The new iteration of Org Crime found it amongst some of old Gio's personal effects in the world's worst hideout bust (long deserted, probably why Org Crime lost their funding).  Nanu spent a nerve wracking forty-eight hours trying to fish it out of evidence before someone managed to make the connection between the kid in the photo and the single remotely personable agent from Supernorm. "Like… your fucking real one."

It went back to 836 for disposal.  That had been around the height of the post-Team-Rocket anxiety episodes, so Nanu never brought it up again.  He'd never in a million years thought the fool did anything besides shred it.

For almost a full minute, a response failed to come. "...ah good.  I was hoping I did not misplace it."

Nanu wanted to kick himself for _not_ insisting Looker destroy the damn thing two decades ago, "Right.  ...You uh, want me to not mail this one?"

Not that leaving it around the station would end in any good, but it was preferable to sending it to Looker's desk at the office.

"No, no," Looker half snapped _,_ half instructed, "please mail that box with the laptop computer and the books."

"You sure?"

"Positive," he swallowed, before adding, "...I need to go.  I shall talk to you again soon."

"...Right.  Go to sleep, fool," Nanu told him, though Looker hung up halfway through his words.

If that wasn't a confirmation of the plug about to be pulled on their little arrangement, nothing else would be.

Well, the least Nanu could do was act the gentleman about it.  The box would be postmarked express to a shitty, nondescript office high rise in Saffron tomorrow.  Looker would be humored through the rest of the sorting, whenever he decided to cut his losses and send the rest of his shit.  Nanu would go about his life as a lackadaisical cop and a more lackadaisical Kahuna. That was the healthy way to handle these situations.  No fuss, no guilt, no desperation.

He plopped down on the bed, a tower of crime paperbacks stacked next to it threatening to collapse.  Team 000 and 836 had a perfect track record, they would have caught Giovanni eventually. Eventually, Looker would stop spending every waking moment of his free time in Alola.  Eventually, Nanu would have to accept he was sleeping by himself in the back room forever. He should have come to terms with this _months_ ago.

The supply closet would feel agoraphobic once the stacks of paperbacks, the filing cabinet, and the overstuffed dresser were moved out.   The notes and maps they'd tacked up to the walls would stay, most likely, though in light of no more Giovanni, the Kahuna would rip them down.  He had half a mind to get started now, but the other man would inevitably want some of them. He could be sentimental like that.

As long as he didn't want the map of the potential leads, Nanu could part with the rest of it.  That map took days to assemble- every potential safehouse, every false company headquarters, every science lab contracted to the Rainbow Rocket cause, spread out across the entire leagued world.  All of their important pieces to the puzzle had been color coded and organized, unlike everything else in their office. It technically had been Looker's birthday gift, so Nanu would _have_ to part with it.  

The pins would come down removing it from the wall, though, so the joke would be on Looker.

It wasn't even a funny joke, Nanu decided as the melatonin tab he'd taken a few hours earlier (before Looker called with his fourth list) kicked in.   He would rather have Looker stick around than keep the map.

-

Acerola showed up too early the next day (aka, around noon), Hapu in tow.  Nanu hadn't budged from the couch, sneaking onto the IP's intranet to check mission reports and studiously avoiding the fifteen missed calls and eight texts from Anabel.  He didn't much need her confirmation of his suspicions, nor did Looker deserve to have his good intentions spoiled whenever he did show back up. Let him say his peace on his own terms, Nanu decided as he ignored 'please call me as soon as you can'.

The Rainbow Rocket cleanup continued without a hitch.  True to the Team Rocket's unwavering lack of loyalty, most of Giovanni's newer admins turned themselves in.  Looker stayed off the arrest reports, to his surprise, and hadn't come up any involvement in cleaning out the rest of the mob.

"Uncle Nanu, it's time for the Kahuna meeting," Acerola informed him in sing-song as she threw open the station doors, "Uncle Looker told me to make sure you went."

The Kahuna of Ula'ula glanced up from his monitor and cocked an eyebrow. "Did he now?"

He hadn't mentioned any of the responsibilities Nanu was potentially shirking in any of his phone calls.  In fact, he still hadn't talked much of anything besides listing off additional shit he'd misplaced. Nanu chocked it up to borrowing the neighbor's landline and tried to put it out of his head.

Hapu nodded, "I believe he contacted Hala as well, since you've been truant for the past few meetings."

"We haven't had anything going on. That's why," Nanu grumbled in response.  Looker hadn't been around to force him into going. "I'm busy. I'll get the footnotes."

"He told me to make sure you got out of the station," Acerola insisted, threatening to pull him off the couch, "I think he's worried about you."

Or he was delegating his usual responsibilities to the rest of Alola.  The agent took a rather strange joy at listening in to Kahuna meetings and taking a profuse amount of notes ("minutes, for the records and benefits to future generations"), though his original intentions had to do with making sure Nanu kept up with the job.  Olivia spit her coffee out when Looker reassured he had no intentions of keeping the Ula'ula Kahuna from his official duties and he'd personally insure their work didn't interfere.

Even with Hapu and Hala doubled over in laugher, Looker didn't quite _get_ that Nanu's colleagues could only count on him every other quarter.

Acerola didn't understand what reigns she'd just inherited.  The Tapu knew, nobody would make her take notes. They weren't even sure what to do with Looker's notes.  Hala found a filing cabinet, so for now they stayed in the corner of a back room in the community center.

"He was quite worried," Hapu pointed out, staying in the doorway to avoid the herd of meowth that swarmed Acerola for pets.  His ward indulged them, which was precisely the behavior he tried to discourage. The meowth got enough spoiling. They'd be sorry when Looker moved out, since the man always had a dozen treats in his pockets for them (...and Bulu, Bulu also liked the pocket treats).

"He call you too now?" Nanu shook his head, locking his computer. The least he could do was give Looker a clean break. It wouldn't happen if Nanu didn't comply (temporarily) with whatever guardianship the agent assigned to the rest of the island.  Looker would just beside himself with guilt if Nanu went back to his regular life of doing fuckall.

"It was on speaker," Hapu informed, matter-of-factly, "He sounded anxious."

"Yeah, he's always like that on the phone," a meowth scrambled off his lap as Nanu stood up and stretched, "shouts into it."

Always. Nanu had forgotten how amusing it had been and hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until now. He didn't want to think about how much he'd miss it again.

"Well let's get this over with," he grumbled.  Healthy behavior dictated Nanu go about his life, giving Looker as few worries as possible.  The Kahuna could go back to being a miserable lump on the couch after the agent showed up for the last time and said his peace.  No reason to make the other man feel guilty about the affair before then.

That was the healthy behavior for these sort of situations- focus on the important parts of life.  Kahuna duties remained. Giovanni was gone.

That was what mattered, at the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, one more chapter which I may or may not get posted next week. It depends on how much of my real job I get done this weekend. Sorry for the long delay. I honestly nuked the first iteration of this chapter and rewrote it and then it turned into two chapters and honestly if somebody can throw me a ladder for this rabbithole that could be kind of cool.


	12. Not a Last Hurrah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looker keeps his promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Vaguely written sexual content. Failure to cope in healthy manners (with Nanu musing the idea of self-harm and drinking too much). Inappropriate use of sovereign amnesty.

Looker clearly didn't figure out how texting worked on his new phone, at least not fast enough to churn out a warning before the flight took off.   The message that he was en route to Alola flashed at the same time the message he waiting to clear customs. Granted, Nanu only saw either because of Guzma's failure to enter the station and retrieve a cup of coffee without his usual pomp and circumstance.  He _had_ been trying to nap off the other three Kahunas attempts plan out the Crabrawler Festival at the Kahuna meeting that morning.  On the list of things Nanu gave a damn about, tetrising in all the food vendor stalls sat real fucking low and he still wasted two hours arguing with Olivia over it.

It took a few quality minutes of staring at the messages to realize what the fool had done and decide that Guzma's shift would start early.

"Oh come on!" Guzma gripped from the breakroom, "I started early last fucking week too!"

"Looker's back, I gotta go pick him up from the airport." The angry officer in training went ignored for fumbling with his phone.  Trying to dial from the text screen was far too complicated.  "Before he gets his ass lost or something."

The trainee officer poked his head out of the breakroom, "Already?"

"...Yeah, this one'll be short.  You can have next week off," he conceded, taking a deep breath before dialing.  Hell, Guzma could have the rest of the month off.  Nanu would need to keep busy, and nothing proved a better distraction over the years then answering petty theft calls and watching Skull Punks pick up beach trash.  "Sorry, fell asleep on the couch, missed the text."

"Ack!  It is no worry!" the agent in question chirped into the phone, "I am just boarding the ferry now, do not worry about a pickup!"

That… felt off.  Nanu had, without fail, picked Looker up from the airport on Mele Mele on every return.  It started out with the realistic concern the agent would never navigate to Po Town on his own but absorbed into their little return tradition as much as sending Guzma on rounds, hooking up in the backroom, and passing out on the couch.  "You sure?  I'll get a ride charizard."

"It is a lovely evening, and I did not want to be a bother," he explained, chipper for someone who'd taken a sixteen hour flight and (if Nanu guessed right) slept for none of it, "And I realize I rather caught you by surprise with this visit… I… it… it was arranged somewhat at the last minute.  I apologize for that, I felt the need to be here. ...I can explain myself when I arrive."

No explanation needed.  Court proceedings and followup from the arrest would hold him in Saffron, and stringing along a probably overdue breakup from a relationship that should have stuck with a 'working' preface to it wasn't Looker's style.  Nanu should have figured this would happen, just like he should have figured they'd be parting ways.

"All right, suit yourself," Nanu shrugged, "I'll be here."

"Ack, do not wait on me if you had other plans.  As I said, this trip was… poorly forecasted."

'Poorly forecasted' could be the tagline on Looker's memoir, though Nanu kept that thought to himself.  "Fool, when have I ever had plans?"

"Well, I look forward to seeing you in a short time." He could almost see the man smiling at nothing as he ended the call and forgot that the ferry took an hour and a half.

"This mean I have to go on rounds still?" Guzma asked in hope, wandering into the lobby with his coffee in Nanu's old Celadon City mug.  Well, it was Looker's mug.  Nanu bought it as a joke when endless planning for an extensive sixth month infiltration and takedown of yet another weirdo researcher (dimensional rifts, if remembered correctly) led them to a city ninety minutes away from home by train.  The mug changed hands over the years, until the last box of Looker's apartment shit brought it to the station.

"Yeah, rounds are a constant," the senior officer reminded him, glancing around at the mess of the lobby.

The laundry scattered around needed removal, since it gave the appearance he'd slept on the couch all week (only once).  The trash needed taking out, it looked like he'd eaten nothing but microwave dinners and beer (...true).  The sink needed scrubbing, the washing machine needed to be turned on, and the sheets on the bed needed a change.  Really, Nanu needed all the fucking functional living things he tended to _ignore_ until Looker boarded for Alola.  He hadn't had his usual warning.  Making Looker concerned about his mental state _now_ wasn't going to make this easier on either of them.

Well… he fucking needed a shower first.  He'd ignored that all damn day.  At the very least, he could not smell like wet Persian and spilled beer.

"Guzma, go take the fucking trash out and pick up in the lobby before you go!" Nanu called as he darted between the back office and the breakroom.

"I thought I had rounds!"

"Do this shit first!" Nanu ordered back, "Place looks like a miltank yard!"

"That's a whole lot of your fault and not mine" Guzma grumbled before adding under his breath, "I just fucking work here."

"Yeah, and you fucking sleep here almost as much as me."  

That might have been a low blow, since Nanu was old enough to keep his fucking mouth shut.  Alola PD didn't quite pay trainees enough for their own place.  They didn't even pay Nanu enough for his own place.  Guzma managed to couch-surf his ass across Ula'ula most evenings and Nanu _should_ be thankful for it.

Well, at least with Looker gone he could sleep at the Station whenever he damn well wanted.  By tomorrow it'd be clear why Nanu was in a mood and he'd buy the former punk a pizza to make up for it.  Hell, he'd invite Molayne over for said pizza (Molayne would decline, at least if he could stop stuttering long enough to, but the thought counted).

"Hard to do that when you're on the couch already," Guzma retorted, "The shit are _you_ doing?"

"Showering."  Or at least, Nanu would be if he could find a clean towel in dryer.   He could have sworn the last load before Looker leaving was towels, and neither two officers assigned to this station utilized the dryer.  It took an extra step and Nanu fashioned a _decent enough_ drying rack in the lobby.

Guzma huffed at that.  "Man, I was gonna do that."

"Shower at the observatory."

"Can't, box system is down."

A retort over as to why showering required Molayne's cooperation nearly rolled off Nanu's tongue.  Then he realized he was old enough to keep his fucking mouth shut, and that Guzma would give him a TMI if he pushed the issue.  Molayne was one of his former trial captains.  The Kahuna needed to be able to look him in the eye later.

Plus, Nanu needed a fucking shower before he scrambled over the station pickup.  Looker might be leaving forever and this might be the last time Nanu ever saw him again.  He didn't have the dignity to give up one last chance at getting lucky with someone halfway worth it, even if he'd  regret it for the next... rest of his life.

-

The agent in question burst through the door before Nanu got a chance to rally Guzma into taking some of the fucking trash out to the dumpster.  The trainee learned a few tricks from his boss, most of all how to nurse a cup of coffee and half-work on reports for a Tapu-damned hour to avoid rounds.  He hadn't moved from Nanu's desk chair by the time the senior officer emerged from the shower to hunt up a quasi - clean shirt from the drying rack.  His lack of skill was immediately put to good use loading the dishwasher in the breakroom, the first in a long list of chores Nanu rattled off as he scrambled to make the station look halfway habitable.

To add to the confusion, the ferry had to run on schedule for a weird change of pace.

If too many years running from literal god pokemon didn't leave some semblance of reflexes, the damn door would have beaned Nanu in the forehead on the way to tossing the beer cans in the dumpster.  Swearing an apology some language or another, Looker grabbed Nanu by the wrist and shoved him against the wall.  His tongue was halfway down the other man's throat, suitcase still in hand, before Nanu could be impressed he'd made him home by himself.

"Hi, yea, I'm still here," Guzma complained from somewhere behind the pair, "could you please give me a sec to go on my rounds first?"

The officer in training had stumbled in at more than a few inopportune moments, which was precisely how the rest of the Ula'Ula learned that cranky Kahuna Nanu had someone else in his life.  If anything, it motivated him to go on his damn rounds.

Looker disengaged, annoyed, "Yes, yes fine."

"Told you to go on rounds an hour ago," Nanu snapped, steering Looker away from the front door and towards the back office before this got out of hand.  

It was already out of hand, given this was Looker's last time visiting and there needed to be some sort of chat before they got into anything.  Nanu quite suddenly wasn't in the mood for chats.   He wasn't in the mood for anything that preoccupied Looker's mouth. And from past experience, this would take all of about ninety seconds to spiral completely out of the realm of human decency.  They needed to relocate from the lobby.

"Yeah well, somebody needed to load the fucking dishwasher for ya."  He grabbed his mag light off the table with a total lack of urgency and made his way for the door, passing Nanu's vain attempt to herd the IP agent.

"I also said to take out the trash."

"Beer cans oughta go to recycling."

"Out! Out! Out!" Looker shooed the trainee.  "We have important developments in the Giovanni case to discuss."

"Yeah 'developments', I hear you," Guzma snorted, letting the door swing shut behind him.

"And don't spend the whole Tapu-damned night at the observa-" Nanu started to yell, though Looker cut him off with another kiss, picking him up off the ground in the process.

Eh, whatever.  If he picked up the phone he could spend the week there.  Nanu didn't need more the next fifteen or so minutes in the clear anyway.  That was about all coming-home-day took.

-

It actually took all of about seven minutes and thirty seconds by Nanu's watch, which seemed a little fast but within one standard deviation of par.  Coming-home-day was always like that.  Half the time, one or both didn't even get their pants all the way off. Looker would flat out forget his 'no shoes on the bed' ultimatum, and more than once almost strangled himself on his own Tapu-damned tie.  If Nanu's back didn't have the nasty tendency to give out, they'd never make it the bed in the first place.

Granted, the bed probably didn't save his back this time, since he found himself half-bent over the headboard not a minute after shooing Guzma, with Looker moaning all sorts of foreign cliches into his ear.  It didn't matter what it translated to.  He could just be drolling out an itemized list of favorite sushi restaurants or repeating the International Police safe-driving handbook in Kalosian for all Nanu knew or cared.  Between that and the fact that _Looker_ , the one fool who'd stuck around despite _everything_ , wrapped around him, it didn't take much more than half a quick stroke and a tooth-ridden kiss to make him finish all over himself.  Never did, and this time wasn't any exception to the rule.  Looker didn't last much longer, coming with a startled yelp and knocking what little wind Nanu had left out of him as he collapsed.

They laid like that for a comfortingly sore few minutes, neither bothering to say a word.  Of all the things Nanu expected to hate and yet didn't, Looker sticking to him like kitchen wrap after sex would be the most missed.  Maybe he'd grown a low opinion of himself or maybe he'd one-nighted too many assholes back in the day, but there was something _soothing_ to it.  Nanu was free to forget that a world beyond the IP agent on top of him existed.  Nothing mattered with the Krabrawler festival, nothing mattered with the station clutter, nothing mattered with the circulation cut off from all of his appendages.

The comfort almost overshadowed the fact this would all fall like a house of cards in a matter of a few hours.

Well, 'inability to breathe' and 'sticking to the sheets' were good enough reasons as any to cut this off before it turned real ugly, Nanu supposed. "Okay, okay, getoff."

Plus, would be _also_ nice if he'd move or not lay square on top of Nanu or at least fucking pull out before he fell asleep.

He could feel Looker smile into the back of his neck.  That was gonna hurt to miss, too.  "In a moment."

"It's a damn good thing I can't have kids, or you'd have knocked me up by now," he grumbled, squirming to give his lungs a few millimeters of expansion.

Looker had the laziest pullout game he'd ever come across and he _would_ fall asleep like this if not externally motivated.   Half the motivation to go get the world's most awkward STD test was in the name of not losing a fucking condom somewhere inside him.  It wasn't every day a Kahuna waltzed into the local clinic; certainly not to get a full panel and certainly with questionable memory of his prior history.

"You would be past any age of childbearing, I would not have to worry then either," Looker hummed, with no intention of moving.

"Smartass.  C'mon, let's clean up and eat something," he grumbled, squirming his way out from underneath Looker.  "You've gotta be starving."

Plus, Nanu might soon lose himself to his own neuroses if they cuddled any longer.

"I could eat," Looker yawned, blocking the other man's escape by wrapping an arm around his stomach and pulling him close.  "In a moment. Just a few minutes."

"C'mon fool, I gotta put these sheets in the wash now." First, they needed to wash off, since the hot water heater had maybe minutes left.  "If you fall asleep now, you're just going to wake up hungry in the middle of the night."

Then he'd try to fix himself something on his own and set off all the smoke alarms in the process.  They'd been down that road before, it required calling the Maile City station at three am and begging them not to send a fucking firetruck.  Oven toast, or the remains thereof, didn't require a firetruck.  Nanu didn't give a rattatta's ass how much practice the fire department needed.

"Non, I will awaken." Looker yawned again, snuggling himself between Nanu's shoulders.

That was the last straw.  Any longer, and the jetlagged agent would be unconscious for the rest of the night and Nanu would be lying awake, stewing at the conversation to come.

They probably shouldn't have fucked.

Nanu wasn't about to regret that one.  Not yet anyway, the next rest of his life could go towards regret and even then, a little discomfort was _sort of_ worth Looker pounding him into the fucking mattress.  Giovanni keeping the stupid kid around made a _lot_ more sense, in that light.  Looker minus twenty years of wear and tear…

...was going to rile up Nanu again thinking about it.   He shook the thought out of his head and into oblivion where it needed to stay.  He was fucking old and it was late, he used up his only go left in him. Staying up all night anxious would be bad enough without half an urge to wake Looker up with a blowjob.

They were too old for that shit anyway, and _Nanu_ was old enough to admit to the fact.  From experience, Looker still assumed otherwise and would fall asleep at the bus stop the next morning.  Made the rounds easier without him chasing down everything that didn't have the courtesy to say hello to the local Kahuna, but not ideal.

Granted, Nanu had to get used to rounds on his own again anyway.

Either way, he was too fucking old to wake up in the middle of the night just to fuck around.

"Okay, up and at 'em," he gave the other man a shove, half sending himself off the bed in the process, "C'mon, food."

"Right, right," Looker grumbled sitting up and rubbing the sleep out his eyes, "Did you have anything in particular mind?  We _are_ overdue on our celebration of the last mission."

The suggestion punched Nanu in the gut.  "...You're a little out of it for that, fool.  Leave it for tomorrow."

In a perfect world, there'd be time for that tomorrow.  In a perfect world, there'd be a tomorrow and the next day and however many days before Anabel called and told Looker he needed to leave for another mission.  In a perfect world, they'd put off leaving the station for a week anyway and never get around to a promised date night.

This wasn't that perfect world.  Celebrating the long-overdue capture of the bastard king of the underworld wouldn't happen.

"...I have to agree with you on that point."  Looker conceded with a fuss, fumbling to button up the dress shirt he didn't need to wear in the Tapu-damned first place.

For once, the response wasn't an automatic 'I am fine', which worried Nanu even more.

Looker must have seen the concern on his face, because he broke out into the panicked babbling.  "But only this one discrete time!  It is a simple matter of unreasonable fatigue, moreso than usual with the jet lag!  I will promise you a rain check and instead we shall eat… whatever is in your refrigerator."

"I think I have shit for scrambled eggs."

Actually, even that was a hard maybe.  Bulu knew, between the three people who spent time at the station, Looker last patronized an actual grocery store.  Whatever he bought before he left would still be rotting in the vegetable crisper.  Delivery from Malie City would bitch and moan at going that far after dark, though, and Nanu had eaten more or less everything frozen.

"Scrambled eggs sounds perfect."

"Right.  Go take a shower, I'ma change out the sheets," Nanu grumbled in response.  He already had one today, Looker could take the last of the hot water.

Plus, that bag of beer cans needed to be in the dumpster before it somehow guilted Looker into any bad ideas.  He would have drank that much regardless of if the man planned on calling off their arrangement, but he would have also been motivated to take it out three days ago (or even sort it to recycling).  Looker couldn't consider the situation _unusual_ , though, if the bag got lobbed out fast enough.

As he somehow materialized a second clean towel from the dryer to hand off, Nanu made a quick prayer to Bulu that he'd cut down on the beer if the next twelve hours played out without a gratuitous amount of pain.

-

"You never did tell me how it went down," Nanu asked over his shoulder as he chopped the one onion that passed as still edible in the refrigerator.  He'd gotten Looker steered towards the shower and the rest of the lobby laundry (and the bedsheets) into the wash before the agent snapped back into reality enough to notice a problem.  The discarded trash bag of beer beer cans even made its way into the dumpster.  As a bonus, the hot water heater still had forty-five seconds in it to wipe off with and the dryer had a third towel to spit out.

Granted, Nanu _should_ have made Guzma clean out the fridge.  Rotting vegetables made Looker worry, the dishwasher could have gotten an anxious loading later.  The agent had side-eyed the contents of the fridge, but failed to say anything as a wilted head of lettuce, what used to be three tomatoes, and some gooey mushrooms went straight into the empty trash.

He _could_ have fucking said something, since nobody replaced the fucking trash bag.

Nanu would deal with that after dinner.

"Ah… er… yes…" Looker fumbled for the words, "I may have… borrowed a page out of an old playbook of yours, so to speak."

If he hadn't been holding a chopping knife, Nanu would have dropped what was in his hands.  "You did _what_?"

"Not to the same extent as you!" he backpedaled, waving his hands, " _A_ page!   _Paragraphs_ of _a_ page!"

"You didn't-"  He found himself unable to complete the sentence.  Well, that _would_ explain all of Looker's weirdness.

Shit. Nanu couldn't even be mad about it.  He'd been the creator of the 'pretend to date the head of Team Rocket' gambit.  It was a matter of time before another took up the mantel and of everyone, at least they'd established Giovanni already _liked_ Looker.

The other man's face contorted, "Oh by Arceus, no!  I requested his company at dinner!  We didn't even make to the restaurant as I had originally planned for, I lost my wherewithal on the walk there!"

The mental image materialized in Nanu's head:  Giovanni and Looker fumbling through awkward small talk, as they wandered to some restaurant far out of the latter man's price range.  Bulu knew, they couldn't reasonably _catch up_ , like normal exes. The list of safe topics between the two workaholics would be limited to the weather and whatever pulp fiction Looker packed before leaving.  It wouldn't have mattered what the fuck Looker said anyway.  Gio probably trodded along, not listening to the agent babble his way through pointless conversation and assuming he'd get lucky that evening, for the rest of his week, whatever.   The son of a bitch would have been downright _pleased_ about seeing his former toy come crawling back decades later.

And then the bastard king of the underworld would have found himself face first against a brick wall, with Looker shouting in his rights into his ear.

Nanu couldn't stop himself from chuckling, "I wish I was there for that. He must have been pissed."

"Oh, he was _furious_ ," Looker assured him with a grin, "Cursed myself, my mother, and a dozen ancestors while I apprehended him."

"To be honest, I'm surprised he agreed to it."

The agent shrugged, "He clearly lost all contact with anyone inside the International Police, since he had no knowledge of my employment."

"You cleaned 'em all out, you forget that?"

"I believe that was both of our doings," Looker credited, before adding, "I suppose he did miss me, to some degree.  It… did not take much more than a few pleasantries for him to accept an invitation to dinner."

The memory of sitting out on the porch in the middle of the night, in some other lifetime with two other people, rushed into recollection.  "...You going to be okay?"

"Oh, I am fine."

"... _Looker_."  Nanu went back to chopping.  He'd spent a lot of years with the man, he'd say more if eye contact didn't play into the conversation.

"I- it really didn't feel like much of anything," Looker shrugged, sounding half-surprised at himself, "I saw an opportunity to finish our mission and went with the single plan I thought would succeed.  I am lucky he maintained enough nostalgia to consider my offer."

Nanu knew better than to buy any of that for a second.  In the ledger of things that fucked up Looker over the years, Giovanni held his own fucking tab.  Seeing the bastard again wouldn't have a clean ending.  Nanu had never expected it to, but Nanu also hadn't been in a position where he wouldn't be able to lighten the blow afterwards.  "Hey Looker?"

"Hm?"

"That better be a fucking promise."

Lookers arms wrapped around him as he tried to crack an egg into the pan, "Of course it is."

His gut sank at the hug.  Nanu also knew better than to think the man would admit to it now.  He couldn't do a Tapu-damned thing to help if this was Looker's last trip to the station, though.  He certainly couldn't do a damn thing when it woke Looker up in the middle of the night over, not if this _was_ his last trip to Alola.

"Getoff fool, I gotta finish dinner," he grumbled, turning red.

Fuck it all.  He could wait for Looker to bring up the texts from Anabel.   _This_ would tear Looker in two sooner than later, hopefully _before_ the man could get around to dumping him.  Nanu could grin and bear putting off the conversation.  Looker grew out of the same idiot kid who waited to panic about being held seemingly hostage.  It took time for him to accept the inevitable break.  He didn't need to be on a flight to another mission, alone, when it happened.

As far as Nanu was concerned, Anabel never tried to get in contact with him.  He hadn't been moping around the station all week, winding himself up over the inevitable end of their relationship.  The plan forward would be to keep his mouth shut and make sure the man didn't do anything self-destructive for however long it took.

"Yes, yes," Looker released him long enough to let him crack a few eggs into the pan, noticing yet another 'call me please' message pop up on Nanu's cell.  Before Nanu could snatch it from reach, he retrieved it from the break room counter and unlocked it. "Ah, Anabel has called you…. Several times..."

Or that plan would go to shit instantly.

Looker ended his snooping as soon as he'd started, turning a terrifying shade of white and dropping the cell face-down so hard the screen might have cracked.

Nanu had been _sincere_ with Bulu about… slowing down on the booze, anyway.   The spite fairy himself named Nanu Kahuna.  He, of all possible deity pokemon in the wider pantheon Nanu dealt with over the years, would know the man was good on his _reasonable_ promises.  If this was some kind of revenge for the premeditated truancy festival planning, it was pretty fucking sadistic.

Bulu didn't even make a passover at his own damn festivals anyway.  He didn't have any right to give a shit about whether or not Nanu managed to organize all the food stalls.  More to the point, the Kahuna hadn't skipped out on it _yet._

"Shit, yeah… listen, she texted me telling me you had some important shit to tell me," Nanu braced himself.

Looker's voice went quiet, stepping back towards the refrigerator.  "...Right."

"We don't gotta talk about it now."  It was a lame save, but the only one Nanu could come up with short of putting his hand on a burner and giving Looker something else to concentrate on.

Bulu would have his ass for that one, though.

So would Looker.  That was a league of self-destructive even Nanu didn't bat in.  He'd lost a lot of his skills over the years if _that_ was the contingency his brain flipped too when backed against a wall.  Hell, two decades ago… he'd just be talking about this now, because Looker never _shared_ what bothered him and the opportunities ran few and far between.

Two decades ago, 000 just wouldn't be frightened on a personal level about what came out of his mouth.

"I meant to… I meant to bring it up… earlier…" the other man choked on his words, "Ack!  Merde!"

With a long sigh, Nanu put down the spatula and recollected himself. This was it, he supposed. Anabel called him as a courtesy warning that his favorite agent would be home for now, but that'd be the end of it.  She must have had a hard enough time convincing him to come back at all, instead of having Nanu mail the rest of his shit back to Saffron (which, based on the other packages, would take _years_ ).   Look would be a gentleman about it, and then he'd be leaving forever.

Granted, being a gentleman meant Looker would sugar coat the hell out of it: offer to get out of Nanu's hair, make himself scarce until his return flight was booked, cut all contact.  Nanu wouldn't make him, not with the residual effects of Looker's pisspoor arrest strategy potentially rearing its ugly head.  The fool could take the bed tonight, figure this out in the morning.  Sleeping on the couch wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

The arrangement had been nice while it lasted.  It was over.

"Listen, it can-"

"I resigned!" Looker spat out, "She is no doubt quite displeased."

"...you what?" Nanu's voice went quiet. He knew he heard correctly, but the subject matter didn't make any damn sense.

"...There is also a high potential… that I am… I am also… going to be… arrested," he winced, backing flush against the refrigerator and threatening to knock over the stack of bills piled on top, "I… I should have held this discussion with you before I departed last!  Or months ago!  I did not think we would capture him this time but- but- but-"

"Arrested?  But-"  The pieces snapped together so abruptly Nanu felt like he'd been hit with a thunder punch.  "Holy shit.  Giovanni spilled about you, didn't he?!"

No wonder Looker had been in a fit trying to get back to Alola. A former Team Rocket attache would be questioned in a holding cell in the bowels of their headquarters in Saffron City, with no real hope of bail or access to any  lawyer, let alone a good one.  Nanu knew this and Looker would know even better than him. Hell, it was a miracle he'd made it out of Kanto before they dug up enough to notice that a certain IP agent's past and a former undercover story from Ops Sec held a few similarities.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

_FUCK._

"Oh, of course.  It was the first words out of his mouth when the support team arrived," Looker huffed, " _That_ I had predicted."

And Nanu… should have too.  This should have been the _first_ thing he considered when they started their project.  Giovanni wouldn't go down with his mouth shut, he'd lash out at everything with a mile radius.  Unfortunately, Looker would be the only thing he could _ruin_.  "Fuck, I should have-"

"I should have discussed it with you first.  I did come up with my own plan for the… aftermath, if you will, but I will admit… it was all executed much faster than I ever could have expected and I did not have time to review it with you beforehand."

"Fucking hell, no!"  Over thirty years with the International Police, the former Chief of Supernormal Division was still the biggest dumbass Nanu ever had the displeasure of knowing.  "I… shit, I shouldn't have let you snag him.  I could have called Anabel to go handle it!"

"We would have lost all trace of him again after that point," Looker pointed out, crossing his arms, "You are as aware as I of this.  There was little option other than act.  It was a limited window, ten seconds, two minutes, to conjure a plan after we ran into each other. And I assure you, I assumed something of this nature would happen after we were successful."

"It could have waited," Nanu argued, "He wouldn't have keeled over and died, we would have fucking found him again."

They'd chased the fucker for two years.  Nanu could've chase him for a dozen more if it meant Looker didn't have to ask him on a fake date and get himself kicked out of the International Police for it.  Hell, he could've talked Bulu into letting him off-island for a jaunt and kill the bastard himself.  Bulu appreciated revenge; he'd give his Kahuna a pass.

"Even so, an arrest by the International Police does not equivalate with a jail sentence. _Someone_ would have to corroborate Giovanni's involvement with Team Rocket," Looker reminded him, "As we both know the original case by the International Police hinged on _your_ reports."

Which… were crap.  They both knew this.  Hell, 000 had even been aware at the time they couldn't amount to an actual conviction.  He also failed to pull the stick out of his ass long enough to imagine a world where he wouldn't be the one throwing the book at Giovanni.

If Nanu could go back in time, just for a second, he'd beat his younger self with a fucking coffee mug.

"You didn't deserve this because of my shitty ass mission reports, fool, and you know it!"

"Do not start with this.  It is not a matter of deserving anything.  I would very much appreciate seeing him serve his due time in prison, more than anything else," his voice was a familiar deadly serious, though one Nanu didn't have much privilege of hearing these days, "To ensure the point, I gave the Chief a resounding disposition of his crimes and what evidence I still had in my possession to prove the point.  I am hoping that is enough to courage staying any attempt at arresting me until… we think of something."

Disposition.

As in, Looker had _confessed_.

Once again, Nanu heard the words that came out of the other man's mouth, but the subject matter didn't make sense.

"You squealed on _you_?"

"Of course!" Looker waved his hands as if everything about this conversation was _obvious_ , "The International Police would have discovered the truth about me eventually.   At the very least, I had to ensure it would happen in a timely enough manner for Giovanni to be proven _guilty_ in a court of law!"

"Holy… what did Anabel have to say about this?"

"...Well, I left her a written account with my resignation letter.  And the box of things I mailed back has my original passport and the one you procured for me, that should corroborate my story well enough if they care to review the old case files.  If she has been calling you in regards to the matter, I have to assume she has at least put a few pieces of the puzzle together and needs further commentary."

Oh, the Anabel 000 trained up wouldn't even have to read his note.  She'd been ringing his phone nonstop and she'd always been sharp as a tack.  The new chief of Supernormal had the puzzle constructed the day of the arrest, if Nanu trusted anything about her.

He wanted to kick his past self for not picking up the phone either.   Instead of lazing about feeling sorry, he and his protege could have found a way around all this without Looker nuking himself.  The only saving grace was that the fool had the sense to get his ass on the first flight out of Saffron, before a collection team showed up at his door.

The sudden silence made Looker visibly uncomfortable, so he babbled on, "I promise you that I intended to talk to you about this first but I had a limited window of opportunity on that mission and this seemed the be a matter unsuited for a simple phone call and I can find alternate lodging if need be while I ascertain the arresting situation I did not mean for this-"

He hadn't meant to break up, that was for damn sure.

Nanu let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  He wrapped his arms around the other man and pulled him in.  "Fool, it's okay.  I'm not gonna let the fucking International Police arrest you."

"...I am technically guilty," he responded, as if Nanu had forgotten and needed a reminder.

As if he could forget the failure of a grunt who cut him off a chair and tried to check for a concussion in the middle of the night.  As if he could forget the scared kid who turned out to be as much of a prisoner as 000, who took his chances on an arrest for the sheer need to return Sableye.  He'd been _in_ Team Rocket, yeah.  He hadn't _been_ Team Rocket.

Looker had never been anything but a bit of a dope that believed in doing the right thing.  Once upon a time, the right thing had been bringing 000 a crappy sandwich and keeping him company before Giovanni got around to shooting him.  Now, the right thing was giving up everything he'd cared about in the last few decades to give the bastard king of the underworld his long overdue sentencing.

"...Nah," Nanu disagreed, "You made a lot of bad decisions when you were younger.  Then you let me make a few for you, and here we are.  I'll go find the other damn Kahunas in the morning, we'll sign off on amnesty or whatever like I had to get for Colress."

The Tapu knows, the bastard had been wanted in every leagued region and a few without leagues and _why_ Aether couldn't find a mad scientist without a track record Nanu would never know.  After the second Ultra Beast fiasco, though, the International Police wasn't a welcome presence in Alola.  Hala had no trouble telling them to get back on the plane at the Mele Mele airport, and for once, Nanu was thrilled the International Police PR team wouldn't overstep a local authority.

Hell, if they'd banned together to keep Colress churning along mad super science with the Aether Foundation, they could sign off to keep Looker.  At least everyone _liked_ Looker.  Looker helped organize festivals and escorted the elderly to the hurricane shelters and supervised beach cleanup gusto.  Hala would want him around.  Even if for some reason Hapu and Olivia disagreed, enough of Alola would band together to overrule them.

If Looker wanted to _stay_ that is.  The man had friends scattered across the globe; folks who had already gone to hell and back for him.  He had a knack for picking up placing to hide out forever.  "...You want to stay here, right?"

"I dunno, figured you were calling our little arrangement off," Nanu shrugged, "You had me put all your shit in _boxes_ , or did you forget that?"

The man cocked his head, the gears in his brain turning.  "Just the things that need to be returned. The laptop was the property of the International Police, and the library books… someone will return them."

When Nanu thought about it, those had been the only things Looker wanted him to _mail_.  "What about the other shit?"

"...Other?"

"Your fucking sweater.  And the list of the coffee mugs," and everything else Looker had listed off over the course of four obnoxious phone calls that sent the man running around the Tapu-damned station trying to divide their belongings.

"Oh, I wanted to make sure those things had remained in Alola instead of being loaned out or… misplaced somewhere.  I had to terminate my lease in quite a hurry, and I wanted to ensure I did not forget anything. There is another box of my things that should arrive in the next few days.  Four boxes, in fact."

Nanu paused on that thought, the reality of the situation seeping in amongst the chaos.

Looker _wasn't_ returning to Saffron.

This was it.

He'd worry about unpacking Looker's stuff  _tomorrow._

"You've lost your Tapu-damned mind," he chuckled, squeezing the other man, "Project's over, can't see why you'd _want_ to hang around Alola."

Alola was boring.  The rest of the world had adventures and folks in need of help.  Alola had a cranky Kahuna who'd fucked over the man more than a few times in the past.

"Ah, but of course I do! I promised I would come with you! I do not intend to break this promise!" he pointed out, serious as a heart attack.  "I am late forthcoming yes, but I would not renege on it!"

Nanu shook his head. He hadn't meant the words like a vow, just intended on shackling 836 to him for the rest of the foreseeable future.  The terms went null and void when Nanu retired, much like their entire friendship.  "...I also said no last hurrahs. I can't hold you to it anyway, I left without you."

While he shouldn't have left and didn't play the 'what if' game, dragging a thirty year old Looker to Alola with him would have ended in disaster.  He'd have grown resentful in a matter of hours, it the two hadn't drank themselves half to the death on a beach by then.

Well, if he had taken Looker, Nanu wouldn't have gone back to Alola.  They could have come up with a better plan instead of getting drunk alone and having a disastrous urge to pray at the ruins of abundance and somehow die as an offering to Bulu there.  If he'd taken Looker…

Well, he'd have shoved the man off a train in resentment, because Nanu had been a mess when he left.

This was precisely _why_ Nanu didn't play the what if game.

"This should not be considered a 'last hurrah', at least on my accounts.  This was _your_ unfinished mission, and since your prodigy is far too busy for such matters, as her associate the duty had fallen onto me," Looker smiled into the top of his head, "I cannot help that you insisted on involving yourself in such matters alongside me.  For you, perhaps, but not myself."

Nanu squeezed him, burying his head into his shoulder and returning the grin, "Yeah, guess I broke that one too, then."

He let Looker's spiraled logic end there.  It didn't matter.  The air conditioner hummed.  The gas stove crackled with its cheapass regulator valve.  The meowth mewed in the lobby.  Looker's heartbeat slowed from a million miles a minute.  His watch ticked by, the only indication that timed still moved.

It didn't matter. It didn't need to stop.  Looker was stuck on Alola, for all intents and purposes.  The two had all the time in the world now.

They had most of the time in the world, in any case, since the smoke smell trickled through about two seconds before Nanu could let go and three seconds before the alarms went off.  

Guzma, on return from rounds, showed up with the fire extinguisher around the same time Nanu could grab the pan of burning scrambled eggs and chuck the whole thing in the sink (conjuring enough steam to keep the smoke detectors blaring).  After a few hastily opened windows and a jaunt around the station on Guzma and Looker's parts to turn off the smoke detectors, as well as a call to Malie City explaining to ignore the Po Town Station alarms no doubt lighting up their security system, Guzma threw the frozen pizza he'd picked up into the oven instead.

Looker made comments the entire time as to how he should have handled the dinner.  Nanu had to agree on that point- the pizza would have been in the oven before Looker could even get around to his confession.  They could have even burned a pizza along with some eggs.  The delivery driver could have bitched about coming to Po Town after dark and Nanu could have tipped him more than he deserved for it.

The three ate on the couch in front of a crappy crime drama.  Looker dozed off about five minutes after he finished his slice, worn out from… well, the last week of his life.  He'd earned the first of many couch naps.  Nanu apparently followed suit, since Guzma woke the two up sometime during the final credits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely didn't mean to disappear for the entire fucking months of November and December. Work exploded and I had a lot of 18 hour days.
> 
> Epilogue posted concurrently.
> 
> Thanks to Ron for the pinch beta and making sure my drunk ass didn't forget to end sentences.


	13. Epilogue: The Best Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu's bad ideas get a little vindication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: General IP corruption. Swearing.

The phone rang through the night, jolting Nanu awake hours earlier than he'd ever want.  

The damn thing flashed on the stack of cheap paperbacks turned makeshift nightstand.  One of these days, Nanu needed to get them an _actual_ nightstand… and then a bookshelf for all the pulp fiction.  With Looker never leaving the islands again, they wouldn't get returned anyway.  The box that he'd sent back earlier in the week was apparently earmarked to poor Anabel for return at the Saffron City library.  The rest would have to be sorted, which would take hours if not a few days.

Nanu was not about to waste a few hours sorting through a felony's worth of unreturned library books.  It could go on the list of crimes the Kahunas of Alola would be providing him amnesty from: racketeering, embargo violation, tax evasion, accomplice to domestic terrorism, forgery… and petty theft from several city governments.  

He peeled Looker's arm off him while cursing at Guzma for not handling the night calls like he was fucking paid to do.  If it turned out the bum was up at the observatory again instead of answering his Tapu-damned phone, the Kahuna would give him an ass chewing so hard he wouldn't have anything of interest to do at the observatory anyway.

Well, that was a lie.  He would grumble at Guzma over not keeping his post and then call Molayne to remind him that the trainee officer worked nights.  Both would get embarrassed and play dumb about the whole situation, and three weeks later Nanu would be answering a phone call in the middle of the night because nobody could contact Po Town's nightshift.  Shit was a vicious cycle and Nanu couldn't call the kettle black.  He would have done the same damn thing if he'd had the stones back in the day. Unfortunately for his sleep habits, both parties waited until they were responsible adults who would pick up the phone in the middle of the night.

Well, they were responsible adults to within certain values of responsible anyway.  Looker could still sleep through a Tapu-damned hurricane and the offending phone ringer.  The man rarely woke up to calls, which was for the best since he insisted on accompanying Nanu on them anyway.

Rubbing his eyes, Nanu grabbed it off the stack, knocking a few of the books to the floor and swiped it to answer without bothering to look at the caller ID.

"Nanu here," he grumbled in half sleep.

"Mr. Nanu," Anabel greeted from somewhere on the other end. So much for screening her until he got Looker's situation sorted out.  "Sorry to bother you at… what time is it there, exactly?"

"Not dawn yet," Nanu yawned, cursing himself for forgetting to call her back in all of last night's… everything.  "What can I do for you, Missy?"

Her tone remained unwavering, "I'm not sure if Mr. Looker has-"

"Looker's here, I heard about the resignation." Fuck it, it was too early in the Tapu-damned morning to play dumb.  Best to get this conversation over with and tell Anabel under no uncertain terms that the IP would not be showing up for a collection, so he could go back to cuddling underneath the human tentacool.

Looker stirred, rubbing his eyes, "I am- I am what?"

"Nothing, fool, go back to sleep," Nanu told him.  His words went ignored, with the other man instead curling around his stomach.

"...Is he there?  I need to speak to him," Anabel said, "I'm sorry for the late call, but I've had difficulty getting ahold of either of you."

"He's gonna be useless for another six hours, at least," eight, if Nanu had his way, "Listen, he's still real… jostled about all this, if you could stave off a couple days on the arrest warrant so I don't have to jump on the bullshit paperwork on my end, we'd both appreciate it."

"I am fine," the (former) agent yawned into his shoulder.

836-autopilot mode had been engaged.  "Go back to sleep, fool."

Anabel let out an exasperated sigh.  "No one is arresting Mr. Looker if it can be helped!  Nor have I turned in his retirement announcement as a result!"

"Pardon?" Looker snapped to awake, leaning closer to listen to the phone.

Nanu mirrored the sentiment.  "The hell?"

Anabel sighed on the other end of the line, "I'm working with Legal on the matter.  We're… I'm confident that thanks to a scrubbed version of the details Mr. Looker left and corroboration with past work from Organized Crime, we'll get a conviction."

"Well then," Looker muttered, bewildered, "I suppose… that is fortunate."

"Yes.  In the meantime, I told the Brass you are on sudden leave for another issue," she huffed, short on patience, "But, I do need your _cooperation_ if we're to sort this out in some form or fashion before more detail is needed.  As I said, will get a conviction, and I have substantial confidence you won't be forced to resign his position or _arrested_ for your previous history.  However, this needs to be processed through the appropriate channels and neither of you have picked up to hear what _those are._ "

Nanu couldn't believe what he was hearing.  He'd figured Anabel could bail Looker out someway or another, but this was on the more serious end of transgressions against the IP.  At the very least, he'd be looking at jail time or worse, a very uncomfortable binding contract.

"Shit, they aren't to budge on that! He was in Team Rocket!" Nanu protested, though he honest-to-Bulu wasn't sure why.  Maybe it had something to do with all the years of working his ass off to make sure that anything recovered from Team Rocket couldn't be traced back to the man (...and destroying it, if it did).  Maybe it had to do with the sudden hope Looker would be stuck on the rocks with him forever.

"I was not _in_ Team Rocket," Looker replied automatically.

Not this argument again, not at this hour of the night, Nanu wanted to grumble.  "With Team Rocket… whatever.  I still stole a cover identity from Ops Sec for him to assume for… twenty years now?  Twenty-five?"

It could not have been any more than twenty-five.

"Ah, well that answers a few pressing questions," Anabel tisked, "With regards as to how this even came to be in first place."

"Yeah, stole him straight out from under Giovanni, gave him a cover I couldn't be assed into using, figured I'd get the son-of-a-bitch a job since he couldn't pull his own weight-" Looker covered his partner's mouth before he could finish his sarcasm.

Nanu was old enough to keep his fucking mouth shut.  Anabel could help them.  Misbehaving was stupid, even if this meant he'd working with the International Police a third time.

"Zer- Nanu did what he felt was necessary and nothing more," Looker responded as Nanu squirmed out of his grip, "I'd rather he be left out of this."

"I am trying to leave _you_ out of this, so you can return to work without incident.  But to do that, there's a legal team that needs the ability to corroborate your story with…. the old Team Rocket reports."  She hesitated on that note, as if unsure as to whether or not to continue.

Nanu flushed red.  Those would have been _his_ handiwork.  The last few… well, those should have been burned and not left in any archive where his former prodigy could have retrieved them and learned how her old boss shacked up with a crime lord for a few weeks.  "Yup, know exactly which report you read."

"...Oh yes, you were… quite colorful early in your career."

Nanu smacked his head on the wall, which resulted in Looker jumping to attention and rubbing it for him, "Yeah, there were… a lot of bad plays in my playbook back in the day."

She clearly didn't know how to respond.  "I'll say."

"That was probably the worst plan I ever came up with."  The subject needed to change to anything else: the weather, his old colleagues, how old Gio was liking lockup, etc.

"It was not," Looker snorted, kissing the side of his head.

"No, it was," Nanu shrugged, continuing despite better judgement, "If you can believe it, it's uglier than the report makes it sound too."

The report was ugly on its own.  Nanu remembered being particularly pissed off about the suspension when he wrote the first one, and determined to _share_ the gory details for the sake of being difficult.  Never in a million years did the former agent picture a situation where someone would know him on a personal level enough level to be embarrassed over it.

If Nanu could go back in time, just for a second, he'd disembowel his younger self.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, her tone expelling the sentiment of 'TMI'.  "...I must say, I'm quite shocked at the fact that you aided in all of this in the first place, Mr. Nanu.  You have always been… quite critical of some of the decisions made here.  I certainly did not suspect your involvement, even if I was confused you kept Mr. Looker's business to yourself."

"Yeah, yeah, I did some fucked up shit myself," he conceded, "Not the worst decision in the end.  They would have given Looker twenty-five to life back when we first ran Team Rocket out of business and we all know it.  Waste of a damn good agent."

Waste of a damn good kid, waste of a damn good best friend, and waste of a damn good partner.  Yeah, an International Police field chief hiding a former attache of the world's worst mob boss and helping him escape conviction?  At face value, pretty fucking corrupt and they'd both sort of realized it back in the day.  It didn't mean shit. Nanu could at least say he knew things the Brass never would to back up his corruption.

"I…. agree.  Which is why I am working to get this sorted and get Mr. Looker back to work.  But I need one of you to answer the phone."

"Missy, we appreciate it… But I almost got jail time myself for just going _undercover_ with them, just so we're straight on this.  Ain't that simple."

Anabel had a good heart, always had.  Nanu trained her up _because_ of it.  When push came to shove, he knew she'd do the fucking right thing instead of whatever the International Police called her to do.  The woman wasn't cut from the same cloth as the rest of them.

Hence, whatever plans she made to save Looker's job wouldn't work.  Nanu agreed that she could talk with legal and maybe get him cleared on any of the laundry list of charges the statute of limitations hadn't yet clocked out on.  Keeping him in the International Police after the fact would be a stretch, though.  At best, they'd abuse him as a civilian contractor.

"Oh for Acreus's sake," Anabel grumbled, half to herself, "we cleared Colress onto the payroll, we can _absolutely_ keep Mr. Looker."

Suddenly, Nanu's blood started to boil a little.

Not because they'd wiped the bastard's slate clean of actual crimes when Nanu fought for the same decency back in the day for ignoring protocol.

Not because he'd already had to secure Colress amnesty to keep him with Aether and not because the Tapu-damned International Police had somehow had a man on the inside of Aether (and in Alola) despite their fuck-ups.

Those facts added to it though, yes.

"You lot are the most corrupt sons of-" Looker's hand affixed itself over his mouth before he could fully voice his sentiments.

"That is quite appreciated, Chief," he responded as Nanu garbled curses into his hand, "But, I think this is rather less than necessary."

She paused, "You would still be wanted for questioning.  We'll… still need to come up with something, I suppose, if you are indeed retiring."

"...I am considering it, yes."

Nanu stopped trying to lick Looker's palm at the words, "Hm?"

"Perhaps this is a matter better discussed when it is daylight in Alola, non?" The words came directed more at Nanu than the field chief.

"I- very well.  I just wanted to inform you that I planned on working out the situation" she explained, "And that you shouldn't do anything _rash_ that might implicate you until I can have a longer meeting with Legal."

Her tone carried an implicit 'for example: go down to the embassy and arrange political amnesty for a former Rocket grunt who hasn't been charged yet'.

"That is very fortunate."

"And a little fucked up, all things considered," Nanu snorted, "Though I guess it beats you putting a warrant out for Looker.  Anyway, we're going back the fuck to sleep.  Glad the IP is still corrupt and double glad nobody's getting extradited before I can file Tapu-damned paperwork."

"Yes, thank you Chief," Looker responded, threatening to muffle his partner again, "We can… discuss at another time about the retirement."

"...I will hold you to it, Mr. Looker.  Have a good rest of your evening, both of you.  Please call me sometime tomorrow."

Nanu hung up the phone before he could say anything that would discourage Anabel from helping them.  Looker deserved his job back.  The three could discuss with cooler heads and better notes from the Legal.  He could swallow his pride and play nice with the International Police a third time.

"Well, glad to know I at least don't have to get up and drag my ass to the embassy in the morning," Nanu mused, fumbling to turn off the alarm clock on his cell.  "Kinda concerning the IP is still corrupt as all shit."

"I agree, I find this distasteful even if I am the one benefiting," Looker added, tentacooling himself around Nanu.

Somehow, he clicked his way into his photo gallery instead, a referenced picture of the space available for a snow-cone stand at the Crabrawler Festival pulling up.  The phone needed bigger icons and he needed his specs.  Bulu knew where those got to after today. "And abusing Alolan amnesty isn't?"

"That is different."

"No, not really, just puts all the corruption above board."  And straight into Nanu's lap, but he'd started this mess and he might as well be the one that finished it.

Though, only if he _had_ to.  If the International Police could come to their fucking senses on their own, just as well to leave the Kahunas out of it.

"It's a sovereign right."

"Wouldn't exactly call myself 'sovereign' ...Can't fucking believe we've both had Colress on the bankroll, though," Nanu grumbled as he pulled up the alarm settings and then accidentally turned on every single one, "Took me four weeks to sort his Tapu-damned situation out for fuckall."

"I thought Hala handled that in the end."

"Took me four weeks to badger Hala about it," he corrected.  Same idea.  In the end, Nanu had to do _something_ , which was insult enough.  "He's getting deported in the morning."

The International Police didn't deserve an inside man after their sparkling history with the Ultraspace, if the Ula'ula Kahuna got any say about it.  Colress could go back to the void of the rest of the world from whence he came, and he could take Faba with him.  Two less mad scientists to deal with, since Alola risked having a third on their hands with all the time Guzma and Molayne spent together as of late.  Eventually, one would rub off on the other, and it wasn't as if the former's new leaf had turned over quite as fast as it could.

Looker chuckled, "I will not try to halt this decision."

"At least you might get to go back to work."  There didn't appear to be an off button for the scrolling list of alarms, so Nanu unchecked every single one.  One of these days, he'd hand the phone off to Acerola to delete them all.

The other man stayed quiet for a minute, to the point where Nanu assumed he drifted back off to sleep.  "...I do not believe I will."

The words processed, but they didn't make a  Tapu-damned lick of sense.  "...You can't seriously be thinking about retirement."

"I made a promise," he reminded Nanu, "I think it is the high of times it was kept."

" _I'm_ not holding you to it," he rolled his eyes.  He wasn't stupid enough to think he ever could.  Looker had always needed a project to throw himself at. Bulu knew, a week of nothing to work on and he'll have arrested every Skull Punk in Alola for loitering and jaywalking.  The International Police might need the man enough to overlook his checkered past with the bastard king of the underworld, but Looker very well needed the International Police to keep himself occupied.  "You realize Alola is _boring_ right?"

"Good."

Nanu shut the phone off and slung it at the makeshift nighttable.  It went careening off into a stack of books and disappearing to the floor with a thud.  Whatever, he'd get it in the morning.  "Yeah, sleep on that one and spend a week here, and then maybe talk to Anabel."

It could all fucking wait.  Nanu was exhausted and _not_ going to the embassy to declare amnesty for (another) international criminal at the ass crack of dawn, so he was going to sleep in good and hard without pondering said international criminal's future career plans.  For the first time in years, he could take advantage of not having to fucking worry.

"...It was not a the worst, though," Looker said out of nowhere as Nanu started his drift back into sleep.

"Hm?"

"...The plan with Giovanni, the first time," he elaborated, "It was not the 'worst you have ever thought of', as you said."

Nanu shook his head, rolling his eyes underneath his eyelids.  Looker had clearly forgotten the part where the former agent almost died, almost got his ass thrown in jail, and then got half-blackmailed into putting up with the International Police's bullshit.  On top of it all, the young woman he'd trained into the best damn field chief the IP had seen got to read about the carnal relations that landed him there.  "...No fool, it definitely was."

"It was not.  If you had not done that, we never would have met," Looker pointed out, settling against the other man, "In fact, it might be the best plan you ever made."

Nanu's eyes wrenched open, wide awake.  After all his gripes and regrets, he'd never considered that.  If he hadn't met Looker, Giovanni would have kept a dumbass teenager entrapped in whatever facade of a relationship they'd had.  Looker would have broken sooner or later.  Hell, he might have been framed for any of the shit Giovanni did, he might have been arrested for the crap he did himself, he might-

The what if game was a bunch of bullshit, and this is why Nanu didn't play it.  Giovanni was behind bars.  Looker didn't have an arrest warrant yet. Nanu and Anabel would figure out this predicament from here.  For once, _some_ of the options on the table were palatable, which was more luck than the bullhorned spite god usually loaned out.  Bulu, Fini, Koko, and Lele knew, the pair had been dealt worse and still made everything work out in the end.

Nanu conceded, shutting his eyes.  "You might have a point there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but real talk, Colress seems like the sort of conniving weasel that plays whatever side is going to let him do the research he wants. The Aether Foundation was pretty quick to ignore his history of bullshit at the end of USUM.
> 
> Hope everybody had fun reading this. I certainly had fun writing it. It was definitely supposed to be three chapters and I'm not sure where the wrong turn was taken, but everybody got a satisfying post-UB incident ending.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to the deity of your choosing and on the life of my barrel cactus I actually wrote 90% of this already, so it won't be an eternal WIP. Plan to to post on Sundays.
> 
> Rocket Looker was not originally my idea and I fully admit to that, though I know it's been passed around in several incarnations over the history of the Pokemon fandom. As has… every other version of evil Looker. Why do we like making this man evil.
> 
> Credit to Brick for beta reading, idea bouncing, and entertaining the wonderful thought of 'Yeah the only way I'm accepting Rocket Looker is if Nanu steals him from Giovanni'.
> 
> Title is paraphrased lyrics from 'Asleep in the Deep' by Mastodon, which was a pretty good song for this fic.


End file.
